Lindir's Tale
by Wynja2007
Summary: A few badly-judged words come back to haunt Lindir, who finds himself uprooted from his comfortable life in Rivendell to go on a trip to the Fiefdom of the South Winds with others of Elrond's household. But then he wakes to find himself separated from his companions, a prisoner of Men whose language he cannot understand but who seem to have no reverence whatsoever for Elves...
1. Chapter 1: A Few, Light Words

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, an homage to the Lord of the Rings. I acknowledge I have no rights of ownership to the characters or the settings and that I only own my original content and interpretations. Intended for entertainment only, I will earn no monies for this work.**

'Is this… a punishment, my lord?'

Lindir tried to keep the horror and shame from his voice. Horror at the thought of leaving Imladris, his beloved haven, and shame at the words spoken well over a year ago now, a few light words, spoken in jest, but still coming back to haunt him.

'…_to sheep, other sheep no doubt appear different. Or to shepherds… But mortals have not been our study…'_

'A punishment? Not at all, my dear friend. It is merely time you went out into the world a little more. See how it has changed, and is still changing.'

And just when Lindir began to hope that Elrond had forgotten or perhaps had never even heard Lindir's thoughtless, laughing words, he held Lindir's gaze for just a fraction too long, amusement in the wise grey eyes.

'It is time for you to become one of the shepherds, mellon-nin.'

'My lord, I have long since regretted those words and, indeed, they were meant only in jest and if anything, a jest against myself for my own lack…'

'Peace, Lindir.'

Elrond came out from behind his desk and laid a hand on the minstrel's shoulder. 'Come. Sit on the balcony with me. Let me explain.'

He led the way onto the balcony and took a seat at one end of the bench, gesturing Lindir to join him. The view looked out across the valley, the tall sides of the mountains and the distant cascades making an ever-changing backdrop.

'We were all of us guilty of withdrawing behind our own borders in the last age,' he began. 'Indeed, the only one of us who could truly be forgiven this is King Thranduil, who had only strength of spirit and might of arms to protect his people. But the world has changed, and is changing still. Many are leaving these shores, and those who remain must either integrate or diminish.'

Elrond sighed. 'My dear friend, I will soon sail. And I wish to make what alliances I can before then, for those who remain.'

Lindir said nothing. He had thought of sailing himself, more than once, and was only waiting, really, for a company to depart, or a friend to invite him. But it was a vain hope; Lindir had few friends. Music was the companion of his heart, the harp his only love.

'There is a country – not even that, a handful of fiefdoms, to the south. It is of strategic importance, since the townsfolk keep clear the mountain passes and the road through the desert. They are not wealthy; had they been so, undoubtedly they would have fallen to Harad, if not to Mordor. But they are seeking alliance, not with the Southrons, but with Gondor.'

He rose to his feet and went to lean on the balustrade looking down into the valley. Imladris was beginning to show signs of age for the first time in Elrond's memory, and it grieved him to see his former jewel begin to tarnish.

'They are ruled – governed – be a woman, which is unusual enough amongst humankind for it to be of note, and she has a brother who would oust her and then ally with the Southrons. We know this because she sent us a letter, written in an obscure dialect that took my scholars far too long to decipher… the basic content of the letter was to state, to the leaders of the free world, that she wanted to come under the sovereignty of Gondor for her people's sake, and that in the event of her death, this be implemented and the new High King to choose a new governor for her land. Similar missives went to Gondor and to Rohan.'

'Why would she do such a thing? Does she fear for her life?'

'Probably less now that she has written to those she sees as trustworthy repositories for her plans. But it interests me. It interests the king, too, but he feels that any intervention on his part without invitation would look like an attempt to seize power before the matter has been properly discussed. He has asked me to send a small party down to investigate; to see what sort of woman this governor is, what sort of man her brother might be. You will not travel alone, Lindir. With you will ride Elladan and Elrohir – they wish to spend some time with their sister and it is not too far from the southern fiefdoms to Gondor. Erestor and Glorfindel will go, too. You ride in two days.'

'If that is your will, my lord.' Lindor rose to his feet and bowed his head. 'I had better begin my preparations.'

'It is my will. But, Lindir, it is not a punishment.' Elrond clasped Lindir on the shoulder once more. 'It is an exciting opportunity to mingle with the races of Men and learn more of this wonderful world of Middle Earth before we leave it. And, Lindir… truth to tell, I was a rather taken aback that Bilbo would make such verses in my hall, about my forebears… you did, at least, put him in his place a little.'

And was that not what Elrond was doing to him, also, putting him in his place for his thoughtless words? Well, he would have plenty of time to dwell on them during the journey.

Even in good weather, it was hardly a pleasure trip. After a month's hard riding and a too-brief stopover in Lothlorien (Lindir would have lingered if he could, learning new songs and sharing his own) they passed through the north of Ithilien before reaching Osgiliath where they took another more-needed, but less-pleasant day or two away from the road.

Lodged in a reasonable inn for the break in their journey, Lindir sat around a table in the common room with his travelling companions and enjoyed the sensation of being seated on a proper chair at a real table.

'Does one ever get used to this?' he wondered, surprised when Glorfindel answered him.

'To the travelling, Lindir, or to the indifferent service and the dubious beer? On balance, no, not really. But it makes for a change, and we see so little change in Imladris.'

'Forgive me; I had not realised I spoke my thought aloud,' Lindir replied. 'I was meaning the travelling itself. Perhaps Lord Elrond was right; perhaps I had been too long in one place.'

'Truth to tell, we had wondered if you would take root there,' Elladan said with a grin that was echoed back by his twin. 'You never seemed to get invited to any of the really interesting battles!'

'Possibly because I'm about as good with a sword as you are with a zither, Elladan,' Lindir replied, smiling. 'For which I am most grateful.'

'What do you think?' Elrohir joined in the conversation. 'Have you learned to tell the sheep apart yet?'

Lindir gave a rueful laugh. He had admitted, early on in the journey, how his words had dogged him, and had found more amused tolerance from his travelling companions than anything else. And it had been a relief; he had felt the weight of long-carried guilt dissipating each time he spoke of it.

'Well, I am starting to tell the sheep from the wolves.' He glanced across to where one of the beermaids was being kept in conversation with a man who stood with his eyes constantly hovering back to the level of her cleavage. The man who seemed to own the inn came round from behind his counter, and summoned the girl about her work and she cast him an amused look of gratitude. 'And the shepherds from the sheep, at times.'

'Many are the races of men,' Erestor said, his precise voice enunciating clearly. 'And many are the differences between one from another. They are distinctive, should you choose to look. But, really, speak a moment to any one and they will say, ah, you are an elf, sir, are you not? And the man will not think there are any differences between Noldor or Sindar or Silvan…'

'Yes. But still, I feel, I should have tried harder to see.'

'Keeping so close to Rivendell as you have, it is not to be unexpected that if you are a little… blinkered,' Glorfindel said. 'I have seen perhaps more than any of you, and yet I am bewildered often by what I have missed… you, at least, Lindir, do not have chunks of history missing from your past. Your deficiency – I will not call it ignorance, mellon-nin – is more easily rectified than my own.'

'We have met good folk, and we have met with rogues. And I am very grateful I am not travelling alone; without your sword, Glorfindel, your bows, Elladan and Elrohir, I fear I would not have lasted long.'

'Of course, you would have had Erestor, still. His glance is enough to make the most hardened villains quail,' Glorfindel said, causing the twins to laugh and Erestor to shoot just such a look at Glorfindel himself. 'Ah, but I am not a villain; I am immune!'

'No, but you work well together,' Lindir said. 'If there is fighting, then Glorfindel, you are excellent with the sword, but when things hang in the balance, Erestor can soothe an angry heart and turn away wrath.'

'And what of us?' Elladan asked.

'Yes, what are we, Lindir? Extra baggage?'

Lindir laughed. 'No, my friends. Your easy humour turns much uncertainty into laughter; it is I who am the deadweight around here.'

And while all the others protested, it was Erestor who made the most sense.

'Not at all, dear friend. We are too used to war and the deceits of men. You, who are so new to them, can make more objective opinions, uninfluenced by your past experiences. Do not undervalue that.' He smiled slightly, for him an excess of humour. 'And then, we do enjoy your tales to pass away the nights beside the campfire.'

'No campfire tonight,' Glorfindel reminded them. 'So I'll to my chamber now. An early start tomorrow.'


	2. Chapter 2: Fiefdom of the Desert Winds

**Chapter Two: The Fiefdom of the Desert Winds**

It took them several days to work their way down through South Ithilien to the place where the lush green edges gave way to brown and dusty lands. Every succeeding stop south, the prices for water were higher and the rivers and streams drier and less frequent. But their horses were strong and they were well-supplied, and soon came to a little town nestled into the foothills of the desert mountain range they were seeking. As far as mountains went, they were unimpressive compared to Hithilgar; low mounds rather than sharp peaks, and as towns went, Foothills was equally disappointing.

Erestor proved his real worth here; he was the only one who could understand even half of the unpronounceable dialect that passed for speech here, and his unending patience with townsfolk curious about their party, their intentions, their origins paid dividends when suddenly they found themselves served with the best food, upgraded to the nicest rooms, and generally feted through the village.

'What's this all about?' Elrohir asked, bemused, as a voluble and incomprehensible woman with grey hair and lined cheeks came to curtsey at them and prattle on at great length while Erestor nodded with serious eyes and gentle words.

'She wants to know if we are come to tell the king to save them,' Erestor said. 'Or something of that nature. She has heard he has an elvish wife, and as we are elves, then we must be related…'

'Well, some of us are!' Elladan protested.

'And what are we telling her?' Glorfindel asked, curious.

'Simply that we are travellers and need to cross the mountains tomorrow. She thinks it will be possible, although the burning storms threaten and she fears for our health.'

'Kind of her!' Glorfindel remarked.

'Indeed, I believe it is. There is a sickness in this land, and the people think it is brought on the desert winds. I do not think there is any risk to us, but I have thanked her for the warning in any case. She says if we were old, like her, we would not be in danger; it mostly takes the young… or… it sits in the young, I think she…' Erestor broke off, his face changing to an expression of utter astonishment, although he rapidly schooled his features back into listening politely.

Encouraged by this, the elderly woman inserted herself on the bench between Glorfindel and Elladan and kept talking, staring at Lindir while she did so. Pausing briefly to hear Erestor's reply, she reached across and stroked Lindir's face, making him to flinch and draw back, causing the twins to laugh even as she said something that might have been an apology.

Erestor's face grew serious as he listened and spoke again, his shoulders stiffening and his brow furrowing at her reply.

'What's going on?' Glorfindel asked as the woman's tone became appeasing, placatory.

'Fetch a clean glass and pour some wine for our guest,' Erestor said. 'Lindir – don't be offended, I beg – she says that you'd be a very lovely wife for someone… no!' he protested, glaring at the twins who had dissolved into laughter at this. 'It is not a matter for amusement. Lindir, mellon-nin, I explained you were male and she said she knows this in spite of your fair face… this was when she touched you – but added that the men on the far side of the pass often take males to wife, for a night or for a season. We must bear this in mind in our dealings with them. I think… I suspect that my knowledge of the language is incomplete, but she says Lindir, that you are most fair and that both the women and the men will look at you with money in their hands…'

'I see,' Lindir said, trying not to sound as mortified as he felt. 'I suppose you had better thank her for the warning… and the compliment… I… Is there more wine? I think I need some…'

'Don't worry!' Glorfindel said. 'I'll make sure no scheming wild man seduces you – even if I have to pretend you and Elladan are a couple!'

More laughter at this, but only from Elrohir and Glorfindel. Indeed, Erestor looked decidedly displeased.

'We should all take care when we get over the pass,' he said. 'The ways of these people are strange to us, even if they seem as other races of men.'

It took them longer than expected to get over the top of the mountains. They reached High Village – 'Such inventive names they have here!' Glorfindel had muttered – just too late in the day to press on with any hope of reaching Low Village before midnight, and the Westron-speaking innkeeper - the first Westron speaker they'd met in days – was very keen to press on them the fact that a storm was brewing.

'Keep here and safe, good lords,' he said. 'Beds plenty and food clean. Better to take lodgings.'

'For him, no doubt,' Glorfindel muttered in Sindarin. 'And for the locals… new beings to admire with pointy ears and everything, oh look!'

'We are visitors and guests here, Glorfindel,' Erestor said in stern tones. 'We should remember that perhaps all of our kind will be judged on our behaviour. So we will gladly accept the lodgings offered and, as the innkeeper has Westron, I need not spend all evening translating for the population. And we may hear more to our advantage, if none know I understand them.'

It seemed news travelled fast, faster than the storm, in any case. Llike it, they were expected; unlike it, they were welcome, novel, indeed something new to look at and talk about.

Once they'd eaten and spent a polite hour in the common room and Erestor's expression had turned from friendly to patient, answering the innkeeper's questions from his other customers, Glorfindel rose to his feet and spoke in deliberately-atrocious Westron.

'Your pardon, good Innkeep, but we are tired and are going to our rooms. Send us up a couple of bottles of wine and fresh glasses and we'll trouble you no more this night.' He looked around the table and continued in Sindarin. 'We need to get out of the public eye for a time; it's uncomfortable, not knowing what they're saying about me.'

'I regret to inform you, Lord Glorfindel, that they have no wish to know anything about you. They are far more interested in Lindir…' Laughter broke out from Elladan and Elrohir. Erestor spared them a tolerant glance. 'And our twins, of course. Consider yourselves a rare delicacy here, you two, and for Varda's sake, keep your doors locked!'

The travellers retired, meeting up in Erestor's room to talk things through.

'I want to know what you think about these people – their romantic leanings aside,' he began. 'Politically, socially…'

'Hard to say when only you can understand the language and everything else had to come through the innkeeper's Westron!' Glorfindel remarked. 'Not unlike humans everywhere; tied to their brief days. Cheerful lot, considering.'

'Generally, I like them,' Lindir said. 'Their voices are happy, their faces smile. Some seem very sad, though. Some of the younger ones… the less old, that is.'

'The sickness. It is rare in older people. Perhaps they build up immunity… it seems, as our friendly lady at Foothills claims, if they get to the point where their hair has turned grey, they are safe from it.'

'We should speak to Adar about it,' Elladan said. 'He will be interested and he might be able to help.'

'For myself, they seem genuine. It's a poor place, but under the guidance of King Elessar, it should grow richer. We'll see soon enough – the main town's a half day from Low Village…'

'Let me guess – it's called 'Main Town,' isn't it? Glorfindel asked.

Erestor nodded. 'However did you know?'

The storm held off, and held off, finally hitting sometime after midnight, wind and sand and dust battering and blasting against the windows and walls of the inn. Lindir shuddered in his bed, but not with cold, and was grateful for the reassurance of the sturdy shutters outside.

Morning broke to orange skies and thick, swirling dust clouds and as the elves assembled in the common room for breakfast, they found themselves no longer the only guests at the inn; a group of four men, more serious of aspect than the villagers, their clothing of better quality and with knives and swords at the belts were seated together at the best table, formerly the preserve of the elves.

The innkeeper pushed forward, spouting Westron and leading them to another table a little way from the men, making a show of cleaning off the already-clean surface.

'Arrived just ahead of the storm, my lords, from Main Town. We are honoured to have friends of… followers of… the word is not… they are the Briotani,' he said in a strangely-level tone. 'He is brother of our Lady who Leads… now, let me serve you with breakfast.'

'When they talk of their lady, they smile, do they not?' Lindir asked. 'So is it fair to assume, since the innkeeper did not smile when talking of these men, that the brother is less liked?'

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows.

'Getting to be quite the diplomat-politician, are you not, Lindir?'

'When can we leave?' Elladan asked. 'I no longer feel comfortable here.'

'Yes. They have been looking,' Elrohir added. 'And not just at Lindir this morning.'

'The skies should clear later today, the innkeeper said. 'Then it is a matter of whether or not the pass is blocked.' Erestor glanced around the room, making it look like an attempt to get the innkeeper's attention rather than assessing the men, but doing both. 'Yes. They are looking, and talking. They look mostly at our twins, but at Lindir also. I am obviously bad-tempered, they say, and not pretty enough to make up for it, and while Glorfindel's beautiful hair has been admired, his powerful physique and hunting knives have also been duly noted. I would suggest we return to our rooms after breakfast to wait out the rest of the storm.'

'Make that my room,' Glorfindel said with a growl. 'The rest of my weapons are in there.'

They kept out of sight for most of the day, eating lunch in Glorfindel's room while they waited out the aftermath of the storm and prepared as much as possible for their departure.

Mid afternoon, the innkeeper presented himself apologetically and spreading his hands as he spoke.

'The pass is cleared and the other visitors have left. It is my hope you were not offended by the Briotani's interest. They are not like the village folk, and do not speak much to strangers. Will you not stay another night here, gentle lords? Low Village Inn will be overfull of those delayed by the storm, and you know the beds here are good. It will be better.'

'Better for him, I doubt not!' Glorfindel muttered. 'What do we think?'

'Let's get on!' Elladan said with a glance at his brother. 'I – we – no longer feel at ease here. Not with these men around! Their eyes sully us.'

'Oh, indeed?' Glorfindel raised his eyebrows. 'It's not their eyes you need worry about!'

'True enough,' Lindir said. 'I've no wish to stay, either. But if we leave now, what of Low Village? Will it be full?'

'What if it is? We camp and keep a watch if we must,' Elrohir replied. 'I agree with my brother; I would like to be gone from this place.'

'Very well.' Erestor turned to the innkeeper. 'We thank you for your concern. But we must hurry on. We will be back in a few weeks, we will stay in your inn and sleep in your beds then. Please ready our horses.'

'But, gentle lords, masters… the rooms will be free to you, only stay…'

'What's that?' Glorfindel asked. 'Free? The man's mad…'

'I would not have my lords sorry to be in our land… the Briotani…'

'No harm will befall us. We are well-armed, my friend,' Erestor said gently. 'But we thank you for your concern. The Briotani, you say, are gone. So must we be gone, also.'

The innkeeper shook his head and offered them their food for free, also. 'The Briotani have gone down the mountain,' he said. 'Stay more time, one night only.'

'We must leave,' Erestor said firmly. 'But, believe me, it is not your fault. Your beds are good and the food is good. But we cannot stay.'

The way down proved longer than they thought and darkness fell before they were halfway down the far mountainside. Although the elves could see the way quite clearly, their horses could not, and so, grumbling that maybe they shouldn't have listened to the twins, Glorfindel reluctantly agreed that at the next suitable camping place, they would rein in.

'There's no danger of rain,' he said. 'So we'll build a fire but not bother with the tents. It won't take so long to break camp in the morning, then. I'll take first watch. A drink of wine first, how about it?'


	3. Chapter 3: Bound

Erestor opened his eyes, wondering what had happened. His head hurt and he could not move his hands…

Opened his eyes? But they would have been open when he went to sleep last night, the nictitating membrane that protected his sight from dust and dirt while he slept should have slid into place as he entered reverie…

Except he didn't remember entering reverie, instead, he had allowed Glorfindel to persuade him to drink a beaker of wine from a bottle in his saddlebags…

Outside the headache, he could hear voices, the sound of men, and he held still and listened, translated.

'You took the wrong ones, you fools! I said the same looking ones…'

'They are same! Same hair, same height…'

'No! The other two dark ones…' Whoever was speaking broke off. 'We can use this one here, he's got the right face for it. But not the other.'

Erestor froze. The man could only mean Lindir, was he prisoner, too? And why? Then the rest of the men's words filtered through as he made sense of the translation... Oh.

Of them all, why did it have to be Lindir?

'But Himself wanted two!'

'Well, he'll just have to share, then! We can't go back; that big one will be awake soon…'

What shall we do with this one? Kill him?'

'No – too risky. Himself wants as little fuss as possible. If he's still out, carry him back to the camp and leave him so he can untie himself with a bit of effort.'

'But I don't understand…!'

'Who said you have to understand, fool?' a sigh, louder; they were forgetting the need to keep their voices down. 'It's this. Herself wants to sell us out to this new king. The king has an elf-wife. Himself wants a present for his sister's bed; just for a night, a toy for her natal day. But if it's known that an elf has been... inconvenienced by Herself, what chances her plans go through then?'

'Oh.' Silence. 'But why not kill the other one?'

'Because if a dead elf is traced back to Himself, or to us, then we'll probably have a war on our hands, not just an incident. And when Elf and his friends wake up, they'll be proper cross at the treatment and Herself has even less chance to sell us out. Come on. Check the bindings on the pretty one and then bring the flask.'

Erestor remembered to keep his eyes closed and to make himself loll and sag against the unpleasant human hands that pulled at him. His head was tipped back and liquid – a heavy, bitter wine – poured into his mouth. Although he coughed and spluttered and began to struggle, he swallowed enough of it that the blackness fell over him once more.

His next awakening was, if anything, more uncomfortable than before. There was the sound of someone swearing nearby, in Sindarin, which was reassuring, but didn't help his headache any. He couldn't prevent a groan.

Instantly, the swearing stopped.

'Erestor, you're awake? Are you well?' Glorfindel's voice asked.

'Hardly. You?'

'I feel as if a company of Rohirrim are riding through my head! And my hands are bound…'

'Mine, also.'

'Head? Or hands?'

'Both. Are the twins here?'

'Yes, I can see them, but they're unconscious… I hope they're unconscious… Is Lindir with you?'

Erestor sighed. 'No, he's been taken… I woke up and heard them talking… they were after the twins…'

'What? Why?'

'Why do you think?' Erestor tried to work himself into a sitting position, groaning again as his head began to thump and thud worse than ever. 'They decided they didn't want me.'

'I'd laugh if it didn't hurt so much just to talk… and if Lindir was with us. Come on, get yourself over here and put those long fingers of yours to work on these ropes.'

It was easier for Erestor to shuffle over on his knees than to get to his feet and stagger over to where Glorfindel was bound against a tree.

'I think they left my weapons – what kind of men are these? Fools?'

'There was never any intention to kill or rob us, my friend,' Erestor replied. 'I think they are cleverer than you realise. We were meant to survive, and to find our friend gone, and to be so outraged that we protest to the High King – whose elven wife has been noted – and he will reject the alliance with the fiefdom…'

Glorfindel growled.

'Indeed, so. Come, take comfort from the fact that they want us to behave in a certain way; this is why they have bound my hands in front of my body and have left a knife conveniently at your side…'

It took him a few minutes to cut through the ropes binding Glorfindel to the tree, but still, it was done, and the golden-haired warrior rubbed at his hands and arms before taking the knife and releasing Erestor's hands.

'Ai, what did they do to us, Erestor?'

'Drugged the wine you brought from the inn, I think…'

'I brought no wine; I thought the twins had put it in and I simply found it…'

'I am sure I would have known, had they done so. But certainly, when they brought me back to you, they poured something like that down my throat. Perhaps the Briotani put it in your pack.' He rubbed his wrists. 'Look to the twins, can you? I'll bring water.'

When Erestor got back with the waterskin, the twins were coming round, Glorfindel talking to them reassuringly.

'What happened?' Elrohir asked, a hand going to his head.

'Yes; and where is Lindir?'

'We do not know where Lindir is. But we're going to find out,' Glorfindel said. 'Once we're able, we're going back to High Inn; the innkeeper seemed very keen for us to stay another night – I'm sure he knows something…'

It was starting to get light by the time they were ready to set out back up the trail, and day had fully broken when the reined in at High Inn once more. Glorfindel yelled in execrable Westron until a pot boy appeared, flinched and fled and returned presently with the innkeeper grumbling at his side.

'Very well, and what can I…?' He started when he saw who it was, and began to smile until he noted the extra, empty horse and the expression on Glorfindel's face. 'Gentle lords, let my boy take your horses and come in to the house. And tell – where is your friend?'

'Glorfindel!' Erestor snapped as the golden-haired elf began to growl. 'Let me deal with this. Indoors is best.'

He dismounted and nodded to the innkeeper. 'Breakfast for four, and a few moments of your time.'

'Gentle lords, I bade you stay; I wanted you to stay, the innkeeper protested. 'I would have lost money to get you to stay!'

Erestor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The conversation was still taking place in Westron as Glorfindel had protested that Erestor's knowledge of the native language was the one slim advantage they currently had.

'You did, it is true. But you did not say why…'

'How might I do so? You are strangers, passing through once or twice – the Briotani are here all weeks… My head it likes to be attached to my shoulders, gentle lords!'

'But I am a very ungentle lord,' Glorfindel snarled. 'And your head can only be removed from your shoulders once while your fingers can be removed from your hand at least ten times…'

'Glorfindel, enough!' Erestor said sharply. 'Forgive him, master innkeeper – we are indeed worried for our friend. Where would he be? Where would these Briotani take him?'

'How can I know? I am but a humble innkeeper and I try not to hear too much of the Briotani's talk…'

'What about this?' Glorfindel pulled a wine bottle out from his pack. 'It's one of your bottles, is it not?'

'I… wine bottles look the same the world over, but, yes, it may be…'

'We found this in our baggage amongst the provisions we ordered from you. Thinking it a mistake, or a gift, we drank and woke to find we had been drugged and our friend gone…'

'But you live! You are unharmed, and that is good, yes?'

'Yes… but we must find our friend. Where should we start to look?'

The innkeeper sighed. 'I cannot say. But if you go to the Lady who Leads, she may know. Or she may be able to help you… but it is her natal day, soon, and there is the council meeting that day, to make sure we join the realm of the High King. It will be hard to get near her, and if the Briotani see you…'

'Do not worry about that. Where should we go?'

'Main Town. The Council Chambers are in the market square, and the house of the lady is nearby. But, gentle lords…'

'We will take our old rooms for the day and we will rest and recover from the drugged wine. And then we will leave. And not storm or Briotani will stop us!'


	4. Chapter 4: Captive

Lindir woke and found he could not move. Pain and panic threatened to overwhelm him, but he took a deep breath and tried to assess his condition. Headache. Nausea. Hands, knees, ankles constricted and throbbing and burning… he was bound, then, lying on his side, his head lolling and bumping against an uncomfortable surface… he smelled timber, horses, something mealy, and a rough fabric beneath his face suggested sacking. Sounds, next; a rumbling, creaking… he was in a cart or a wagon of some sort.

He felt weak, too weak to struggle against his bonds, and he fought against dread. He was no warrior; he was a minstrel, he could no more defend himself than Lord Glorfindel could sing…

And what of his companions? Were they safe? Where were the twins? He struggled to raise himself enough to see if there was anyone with him… He felt very alone, and for his friends' sake he hoped it was so… his head swam and he lay down again, but not before he had seen that the cart was covered, small, and he was its only occupant.

All things passed. He knew this. In time, the pain would recede, the journey would end and surely things would be better? Since he was alone, the others must be safe, somewhere, mustn't they?

He closed his eyes, tried to settle himself less uncomfortably on the bed of the wagon, and prepared to wait.

Time passed, as it always did.

He must have fallen asleep, or lost consciousness again, because suddenly he was awake, aware once more, feeling less nauseous but still in pain and with the added fear of knowing there was another presence in the now-stationary cart. He had barely had time to assimilate this when he heard the heavy breathing he associated with humans, and smelled sweat and stale wine. And his hair was being stroked and fondled , strands of it being caressed by thick, dirty fingers and he felt sick all over again as he remembered what the old woman had told Erestor of how the men on this side of the pass took males to wife, sometimes, and he began to fear the thought and tried to prevent himself wondering exactly what she had meant by that… he shuddered, and the man laughed and said something rough and guttural, to be answered by another voice, harsh and authoritative. The man let go of Lindir's hair and replied in a placating tone, disappearing from view and taking his body odour with him, and Lindir breathed again.

It was less dark now, and while his elvish eyes could see perfectly well in the dark, he was grateful for the extra clarity. A bright streak in the canvas covering the cart indicated it was light outside, and glints and gleams of daylight found their way in through other gaps and cracks in the canvas covering.

Form somewhere outside, the two voices were continuing their discussion. He knew not a word of what was being said, of course, and could only guess from the tone and timbre of the voices what was going on. The one who had befouled his hair sounded whiny, supplicatory, and Lindir hoped that meant the other was telling him not to touch Lindir again… he did not like to think why the other man might be giving such orders, though.

Suddenly, he was miserably aware how much he missed Imladris, how much he had taken it for granted. It had been more than just his home – it was a haven of peace and ease, somewhere he could make all the songs he cared and play music all day long, and it would be considered a full day's work. And if he had, on occasion, to help Lord Elrond with unexpected guests, it was a small price to pay for the freedom to create music and poetry.

He wished he'd never left, he wished he'd refused Elrond's challenge. For while Elrond had been right – Lindir had not seen much of the world – that was mostly because he hadn't wanted to; he had no soul for adventure. Bad enough riding south through the mountains, but now this… when he saw Lord Elrond again, he was going to bring the full weight of his poetic ability to bear to make his point as to how awful it was and how ill-judged sending him on the trip had been.

If, he realised bleakly. If he saw Elrond again.

Suddenly, Lindir wanted to cry.

He huddled into his misery and allowed it to pass over and through him, not giving in to tears, lest the men hear and come to mock or poke or prod, but allowing the full weight of his despair to cover him like a blanket, hiding him. For locked this deeply into himself, all he could feel was his own sorrow, all he could sense was the bleakness of his fëa, and it was awful, but it was the only way through this that he knew. Only by permitting himself to feel so lost could he begin to find his way again.

He was alive. The pain he was feeling had largely subsided, and what was left was centred around his wrists, knees, ankles where the ropes bit in. So that meant he could not be too badly hurt. His head was clearing, now, and he realised he'd been drugged. They wanted him alive, and they wanted him unharmed, and they were taking him…where?

The only place it could be was to the fiefdom they had been heading for in any case; the lady who governed them wanted an alliance with Gondor, she knew about elves and their importance to the High King, surely once they realised he was an elf, they would release him? Surely they would not risk their lady's anger just for the sake of… what?

Voices again outside, raised and giving orders; the one from before, one or two others… the same one ordering, though… and the wagon began to move once more, rumbling and the flashes of brightness dimming as it went beneath some sort of bridge or… no, there was the sound of gates closing. Through an arch into a courtyard, then, maybe a stable yard…

Presently, light flooded in as the canvas was pulled back, momentarily blinding him until the nictitating membranes in his eyes flashed over to filter out the glare. Hands reached for him, many hands, grabbing and pulling and dragging him free of the cart, one of them lingering too long on his buttocks until a sharp word made the hand snatch away suddenly… he was hauled, carried – he had no strength to walk even if he had been unbound – out of the cart and a cloak tossed over his head to obscure his view. The hands on him were harsh, bruising as they lugged him across an open space and then into a building – he could hear by the echo of the breathing of the men that they were in an enclosed space – and then the angle they held him at altered, the sounds changed and he knew he was being carried up stairs… many stairs. He lost count after sixty or so, for the men struggled to bear him and at one point dropped him down on a turn in the staircase to catch their breath. There had been three turns so far, three flights, and he wondered how much further.

How much longer?

Another flight, a corridor, the squeak of a door and he was dumped on the ground like a sack of grain. He felt the texture of a carpet beneath his cheek as his head hit the floor and the cloak covering him flared away. There were more voices now, one even more authoritative than the previous leader's, who in his turn sounded placatory and apologetic. It was such a hard-edged language, every word sounded full of the threat of knives and pain… it was almost as bad to listen to as the tongue of orcs…

He was pulled to his feet and supported by two hard bodies at either side, clutched by their arms, and the cloak pulled fully off his head. He kept his gaze lowered, hiding the flash of his eyes as the protective membrane flashed across and back and he adjusted to the light.

An order given. He was released, and fell to his knees, struggling not to topple further and his chin was grasped, forcing his head up so that he was forced to look at his captor.

Or, at least, at the shepherd, the person in authority here; the man looked far too respectable and well-dressed to be a kidnapper or a slaver…

He was broad and bearded, his hair meticulously styled and curled and with a gold circlet on his head, rings on his broad hands. He said something, directing his attention towards Lindir and the phrase ending with an uplift of tone; a question. Lindir understood himself to be addressed, and swallowed to try and moisten his mouth to frame a fair answer. His chin was released, but the hand sat restrainingly on his shoulder.

That awful local dialect again! He answered in Sindar, knowing he wouldn't be understood, but then, this shepherd ought to know he wouldn't know the local speech either.

'I am Lindir, of Imladris, the house of Lord Elrond,' he said, as clearly as he could, trying to keep his voice even. 'I think there has been some mistake. I have lost my friends and…'

The man said something harsh, and the restraining hand shook Lindir roughly, silencing him.

More orders – instructions, now, the tone less stark and rough, and Lindir realised why when a woman came forward and curtseyed. As she replied, he heard the word 'Briot' – was this, then, the brother of the woman who ran this fiefdom? He gulped. From what he'd gathered, Briot would have no love for elves…

Two of the men – Briotani, he supposed – came forward at a word and dragged him to his feet again, pulling him after them out of the room while the woman followed, scolding, maybe, from the way the men replied and grumbled.

He was led – dragged, for the men didn't seem really to care how they handled him – along the corridors of what was obviously a large, well-appointed building. Glimpses through open doors showed good furnishings and the chamber he finally found himself in was bright and pleasant, and for a moment he thought things were looking up, especially when his feet and knees were untied and he was lowered into a chair, But through the sudden pain of returning circulation, his hope faded as he saw more men arrive, taking up guard positions at the door. Two more women had arrived, also, younger in appearance than the one currently scolding the men. Briefly, he wondered whether he would even have noticed that, before he left Imladris…

A knife was pointed at him while his hands were unbound, but really, he was in so much pain and so debilitated by the drugs and the journey that he couldn't have made a bid for escape, even if there had been somewhere to go.

Suddenly he was pulled to his feet once more and frogmarched, legs buckling, into an adjoining room – a bathing chamber, it seemed, the three women in attendance and the two men guarding him. One of the younger women began to reach for the fastenings of his clothes, and he tried to protest, but a buffet on the shoulder from one of the guards made him fall silent and stand as well as he was able while his clothes were removed.

The men were staring, and the women were staring, and he felt himself blush under the inquisitive eyes until another shove made him scramble into the bathtub. It was humiliating, and even the sympathetic gasps from one of the women when she saw the blood and bruising on his wrists and ankles didn't make him feel any less embarrassed. At least now he was covered, to some degree, by the water and although the women converged on him to wash and scrub at his body and soak and soap his hair, their hands were gentle and their eyes kind. Or was it kindness? Was it pity?

The oldest woman spoke to him, her voice as soothing and soft as the rough language could make it. He answered in Sindarin, just in case, just to feel part of a conversation.

'There has been a mistake. I should not be here. Ah, do not… I can manage…'

But the washcloths and soap went everywhere, and he was only grateful that he could not feel hands and fingers on his body.

The senior dame decided they were done, and shook out a towel to wrap him in as the others encouraged him to stand. The guards spoke sharply, and the woman replied sternly as he gratefully hid behind the cloth. It was rough and harsh, like the language, but he felt clean, and after the journey in the cart, that was a relief.

One of the guards stepped forwards with a smirk and something in his hands. It looked like a chain, and to his utter humiliation, he was grabbed from behind by the elbows and restrained while a leather collar was fitted to his neck and stitched in place as he stood. It was a wonder his skin wasn't pierced, and he was terrified, not knowing what else would happen, but he didn't dare speak. While his neck was receiving its collar, a wide strap of leather was being similarly stitched in place over his belly and hips, pulled tight and sewn in place. His wrists were similarly cuffed, his ankles, and the entirety fastened together with a chain which, while fine, was strong and well-forged.

The man held onto the chain, tugging when he felt like it, while the women fussed around with more towels, drying and combing out Lindir's hair. He wished they would stop; why would they need to do this, bathe him and dress his hair and chain him? The only reason he could think was that he had somehow fallen in with slavers… but it made no sense… they were treating him badly and well at the same time.

He was hungry, but more, he was thirsty. He had tried to catch some of the water from the rinsing of his hair, but he had only managed a little and that was soapy.

'May I have some water, please?' he asked, again in Sindarin, addressing himself to the mature woman who seemed to be in charge of the maids.

She looked at him and asked something he couldn't understand, so he tried to mime the act of drinking, only to have his hands yanked down by the guard with the chain. Again, the dame protested, and sent one of the maids out. She returned with a cup of water, and he drank greedily when the cup was put to his lips, only to have it dashed away before he was half done. The woman scolded, the guard snarled, but Lindir looked at the one who had given him to drink and thanked her. It didn't matter that she couldn't understand.

And suddenly they were moving again, the women standing aside and the guards tugging and pulling at the collar and the cuffs, making the point that he was bound and chained. They pushed him into a room – a rather large room dominated by a huge bed that was covered with a burgundy and red damask counterpane. The chain was undone and refastened so he was bound by the collar to the bed and the ankle cuffs now fastened to the chain so that he could lie on his side, curled up, but any extension of movement pulled at the chains and put pressure on his neck.

Satisfied he was properly hogtied, the guards left the room and he tested his bonds; it felt like being slowly throttled when he tried to move, any attempt to extend his arms or legs from the foetal position causing the collar to squeeze his neck and the blood supply to his head diminish so that everything began to swim and darken.

Time passed and he tried not to give in to despair; he was clean, at least, and had drunk some water, so that he felt less ill than he had. The cuffs, really, were causing less pain than the ropes had, even if being chained was so shameful. The bed beneath him was comfortable, but the room had a lived-in smell and he realised he probably hadn't been brought here to have a nice lie down.

He swallowed, trying to quell the rising fear that rose up suddenly and whispered all kinds of things about the leer on the face of some of the guards, the touch of pudgy fingers on his hair, the swagger of the one he thought was Briot…

He felt cold, which was impossible; he was an elf and although he was aware of temperature differences, they ought not bother him. But he was shivering where he lay.

And then the door opened and the man who had spoken to him earlier, the one he assumed was Briot came into the room and stood staring at him and Lindir realised something.

Briot was not one of the shepherds. He was one of the wolves.


	5. Chapter 5: Search Party

The four elves spent the day recovering and planning. The following morning they set off as early as they could, making their way down the mountain path once more but this time not stopping for anything until the mountain rolled into lazy hills and the country changed from brown and grey and became gold and bronze instead. There was a smattering of vegetation – not much, enough to show what a poor land this was, and they began to pass outlying farm buildings, isolated, each in the middle of vast tracts of land.

'I suppose it takes that much just to sustain one family,' Glorfindel said, shaking his head at the paucity of the landscape.

'It's greener ahead,' Erestor remarked. 'But it's a stark place indeed.'

Early afternoon, and they reached the outskirts of Main Town, such as it was. Dusty streets with thin canines lying outside some of the houses, buildings with thick walls and stout shutters.

Few people were in the streets; it was hot and dry and the very atmosphere was withering.

'The air feels uncomfortable,' Erestor said.

'So do the stares,' Glorfindel added. 'Your pardon!' he accosted a thin, dusty passer-by, a man of indeterminate age. 'We seek an inn, do you understand me? Is there an inn? A hostelry? It is called, 'Middle Town Tavern?'

The man stared and then hurried on.

'I'm sure that's what the innkeeper in High Village said it was called,' Glorfindel muttered.

'Glorfindel, your Westron is worse than mine!' Elladan laughed. 'He probably just couldn't understand you!'

'I think it would be the same response however good the Westron,' Erestor said. 'Well, if we cannot find our way to the tavern our host from High Village Inn suggested, then we should attempt to find the market place.'

'Or get off the streets anyway.' Glorfindel suggested, carefully not looking at a cluster of well-dressed men whose eyes were following them down the road. 'It looks like the Briotani, when they came down the mountain, came down on this side. And they have found some friends.'

'There is a street to the left. We will turn down it as if we have a destination in mind,' Erestor said. 'We will keep calm and we will remember we are elves, we are all armed, and even I can fight if I must. But we will try not to kill any of them unless we have to. It might make a bad impression.'

The twins laughed, lightening the tension and the watching Briotani, hearing the laughter, seeing several townsfolk look round at the sound, retreated into the shadows.

The side road came up, they turned down it and kept riding. A small, dusty boy kicked and scuffed at the dry ground, raising clouds of thin yellow earth which drifted like smoke, and ran off down the street.

The houses here were fewer, little clusters of two or three together and then empty spaces before the next. Occasionally, there were signs that the occupants had tried to make a garden; thirsty-looking rows of vegetables lined up in rows.

'I am not sure I like this better; we are not under the eyes of the Briotani, but the houses are staring at us!' Elrohir said softly.

'We can outride the houses,' Elladan said.

There was another junction ahead, and the small, dusty boy appeared suddenly once more, standing right at the centre of the crossroads.

'Are we to ride him down?' Glorfindel said, when the boy did not move even as they approached within talking distance.

'We are to rein in,' Erestor said, pulling up his horse.

'Elsh,' the boy said, and bowed to them.

'Elsh?' Glorfindel echoed, and the lad straightened from his bow, and nodded ferociously, tugging at the rounded tops of his ears.

'Elsh!' He swept his arms to the side, gesturing down the street and even further away from the main thoroughfare.

'You want us to go with you, urchin?' Glorfindel said in his appalling Westron. 'We are elves, child, not elsh…'

'Elsh! Elsh…'

'Elves,' Erestor said, but the boy was running ahead down the side street. 'Glorfindel? What do you think?'

'I think the Briotani would not send an urchin out to entrap us. We'll follow. But have a care…!'

'What, don't offer the bottle of drugged wine around, do you mean?' Elladan said, and Elrohir laughed.

Even Erestor smiled when Glorfindel protested. 'It was in my saddle bags! I thought maybe I'd ordered it and forgotten, or the inn keeper had misunderstood…'

'Well, it's done now,' Erestor said. 'And see? Our friend is back.'

The dusty boy had indeed appeared once more. He brought with him a tall, thin, dusty man with wispy grey hair and thick, lumpy boots.

'Erestor, will you try to keep to Westron? If word gets round we speak the tongue, and the Briotani hear of it, they might realise you understood them when you were captive…'

'I know that… I will keep it as a last resort. I will greet this man as a friend,' he said, dismounting and giving the reins to Elrohir.

'Well met, sir,' he said in Westron, placing his hand over his heart and bowing with grave courtesy. 'We come from High Village Inn. Our friend there told us to seek Middle Town Tavern…'

'Master Elsh,' the man said, bowing in return with his hands clutched together before him, 'welcome be. Middle Town Tavern is full. Come to our home.'

'Full!' Glorfindel repeated. 'Why would it be full? There is no storm coming!'

'Storm is coming, but not of sand,' the man said. 'Pardon, lord. To follow now, unless Briotani are friends to you? They fill the inn. They sit on the street.'

'Very well. Lead on,' Erestor said with a glance at Glorfindel, reverting to Sindarin. 'I do not see what other choice we have. Plainly, we are expected.'

Ten minutes' walking brought them to a tawny, desiccated small holding. Chickens and a goat scratched and browsed what little vegetation there was, but there was, at least, a shaded corner for the horses.

Their guide opened the door to the house and gestured them in.

'I suppose you want us to leave our weapons outside the door, Erestor?' Glorfindel asked in tones that suggested he would not support such an idea.

'It would be better manners,' Erestor replied. 'But it probably is not wise. However, I will lay my sword inside the doorway as a sign of good faith. They will not see our knives, worn as they are under our tunics, so we may keep those about us.'

'All right,' Elladan was already unbuckling his sword belt, his twin echoing his movements.

The man's eyes widened as he saw the sword belts come off and the weapons lain inside his doorway, and he shook his head in wonder.

'Enter, Masters Elsh,' he said. 'Wife has food.'

'Thank you, sir,' Erestor said gravely, stooping to enter under the low lintel. 'Greetings to you, lady,'

The woman was working at a little table near the window and she turned to drop a curtsey to them. 'Mashters Elsh,' she said. 'Welcome, be sitted.'

'Our thanks,' Erestor said, and seated himself on a chair at a table, the others following suit and joining him there.

'Please, eat, drink. Wife has no speech of Westron,' the man said as the woman set plates and beakers and served them with water and bread and cheese. 'Kin to Haar, at High Village. Wife is Carli, me is Torre.'

'Please thank your wife for her kindness. I am Erestor. My friends are Glorfindel…' He paused for the blond elf to nod, 'Elladan, and Elrohir.'

'Is same-soul elsh? Both looking as one?'

'Same soul?' Elladan said.

'We're twins,' Elrohir offered. 'We were born at the same time.'

'To the same mother, of course,' Elladan added.

'We say, soul-bairns,' Torre said. 'Share a soul. Is good luck to see such.'

'Maybe that's why Briot wanted us,' Elrohir said lightly.

'Briot? What you know of Briot?'

'My friend…' Erestor glanced at the others. Glorfindel nodded agreement to share their tale. 'When we set off from High Village Inn, there were five of us. Now there are four.' He paused to allow Torre time to process and translate his words. 'We were drugged, and I and our friend Lindir were taken prisoner by the Briotani. But I think there was a mistake, and they had been trying to catch our… our soul-bairn friends here. They drugged me again and took me back to my friends. But not Lindir, and we are worried about him.'

'Came a covered wagon this morning. It was drove by Briotani. They went by.'

'Was our friend in it?' Elladan demanded.

'Where were they going?' Elrohir asked.

'Patience!' Erestor said. 'I know you're worried about Lindir; we all are. But remember, our host is not used to Westron; do not alarm him with your over-eagerness!'

Torre scratched his head, looking at the twins. 'You are eager for him. Is he wife to you?'

'What? No…! Erestor, tell him!'

'If you will permit me to be slightly inventive, for all our sakes?' Erestor waited for the twins to nod.

'Just don't give me wife and several elflings, do you hear?' Glorfindel warned.

'Torre, we have heard how the people here take male wives… but our wives are at home, a long way from us, and we wait until we return to them. We are elves, we need no other than our own wives… Lindir has no wife and has never been a wife.'

'Then I hope you may find him swiftly, for it is what the Briotani do – they find wives for their lord.'

'What? But, not Lindir! He's just not…'

'Peace, Elrohir! We know. Of all of us, I think even you and your brother would cope better than Lindir.'

'Let's hope they do not have to,' Glorfindel put in, and changed to Westron. 'Torre – where would they take him? Where can we find him?'

'Good lords – not now. Do not seek him now. Briotani in the streets, and it is daytime. You will be seen, and suspected, and held…'

'Suspected of what? Of being Elves? Of travelling to a distant land to expand our minds and make new friends?'

'Later, I send out the boy. Nobody notices the boy, nobody cares about a small boy… he will look and listen and see and come back to tell. Until then, sit, eat, drink, rest. Talk of how it is in lands of Elsh, where the King is good to all?'

'Tales of the king?' Elrohir lifted his eyes at Erestor. 'What shall we tell him? That our sister says he snores? That he doesn't like having wet snow shoved down his neck?'

'If you think the concept of snow is one you can adequately convey in Westron, Elrohir, please feel free,' Erestor said, hiding a smile. 'But perhaps, if we are to be here a while, it will give us the opportunity to set one or two things straight…'


	6. Chapter 6: A Small Rebellion

Lindir closed his eyes against the sight of the man, Briot. His mind sought to flee, but all he could think about was a lecture he had been required to attend, along with all of Elrond's household, when times were more dangerous. It had, he remembered, been Glorfindel who delivered the lecture…

'_The world is growing dark outside our borders. Fell things are abroad. Large parties of orcs and half-orcs have been sighted and while we will fight to protect our valley, there is an increasing risk of danger… it is possible some of you may be unlucky, some of you may be taken…'_

The bed dipped at Lindir's back as the man settled onto it. Lindir tried to ignore him, to disregard his presence. His mind took him back to Glorfindel's calm voice, reciting the theory of sexual abuse.

'…_Understand, rape is not about sex, although it is part of it – it's about power. A rapist will force their victim simply because they can. Sometimes it's used as a weapon, a means to intimidate and weaken... If it happens, try to take care of yourself in any way you can. If you fight, you'll probably be beaten as well as raped. If you struggle, your internal injuries are likely to be significantly worse than if you do not. '_

A hand tugged at Lindir's hair, yanked at his chains, letting him feel the pull of the leather straps against his skin. He retreated to Glorfindel's lecture once more.

'_If it happens, well, we are elves, we will heal, all things pass in time… it is uncomfortable listening, but better to know what to expect. There is a tale, that one can become aroused during such an attack. It is true, and it is very confusing for male and female both. The victim can fear it means they like the act, that at some level they must have encouraged it. But it is simply the response of the body, an attempt to protect itself however it may.' Glorfindel had paused. 'Every attack, every victimis different and we all process such things differently. I mean only to offer hope one can endure, one can survive. At the time, it is true, one might not wish to survive, but… we are elves, we are remarkable creatures. We are far stronger than we look…._

'…stronger than we look…' Lindir repeated to himself. He could feel Briot's hot breath on his neck, and he forced himself not to shudder. Fear clawed at him, pawed at him, heightening his senses until he became aware of every sound, every breath, every touch. Briot began to maul him, pulling at Lindir's chains and squeezing and compressing his flesh. And to talk, his tone questioning, sly, commanding.

If it was true, what Glorfindel had said, that this was about power, then perhaps Lindir did not need to be quite so much the victim… He kept quiet. In his mind, it seemed that if he protested, or flinched away, then he was refusing permission. But as long as he didn't refuse, then he was not being forced, and even though Briot did not know what Lindir was thinking, still, it took away some of the man's power over him. It was a small rebellion, but it was his.

The hands that groped and pawed were becoming insistent, hard, and Lindir found himself being rearranged on the bed as if he were nothing but a mannequin, his knees beneath him, his buttocks raised and he shuddered in desperate dread. Panic rose in him – how could he endure, how pretend he could come through this… this invasion?

He felt the constriction of the collar at his throat, tighter at this angle and painful on his neck, a minor distraction while Briot pushed unwelcome fingers at him, and as Lindir tried to escape into his mind, he realised something, and he turned his head, ducking down, so that the collar compressed and throttled him, restricting the blood supply to his head so that, just as he began to feel something worse than a finger against him, black spots clouded his sight, there was a strange sense of hushed disassociation, and he passed into merciful unconsciousness.

Lindir woke to misery. His head ached, his neck felt raw and chafed, and he had a raging pain inside him, far too deep inside, a throbbing ache, and there was a stinging, burning sensation at the entrance to his body, also, that told him Briot had not given up his intentions simply because his victim was unconscious. He swallowed, his mouth and throat dry, and he tried to see if he was hurt anywhere else… no. No, it was just the pain from his restraints and the other, far worse, far more intrusive injury.

He passed his hands down his body and found, to his relief, that his stomach and thighs were clean; he had not, then, succumbed to the strange effect Glorfindel had warned about. He had passed out first. It was another triumph, that Briot had not made him ashamed of himself.

Gradually the headache subsided and the discomfort from his neck increased accordingly; he tried desperately to ignore the other, intimate pain since thinking of that, of what had happened, of what he remembered of the experience before he blacked out, was making him feel physically nauseous.

He was an elf, he would endure. He had forever to recover from this. It was over.

He tried not to wonder why, if it was over, he was still shackled to a bed?

Something was different, he realised. He had been on top of the bed previously, but now he was under the covers. The sheets felt reassuringly soft and comfortable.

As yet, he had kept his eyes closed for fear of what he might see, but now, encouraged by the silk against his skin, he chanced a look around, pushing himself up in the bed.

The movement made his headache return and increased the throb of his nether regions, but he tried to ignore the pain and focus on his environment. Yes. It was a different bed in a different room. Everything was pale and light, except for the counterpane which here was a rich, dark green. There was a deep, thick brown rug on the floor at the end of the bed, and a door in the wall opposite. A narrow sideboard stood along the wall, a bowl of fruit set on it along with a decanter of wine and a glass on a little table nearby. The sight reminded him how hungry and thirsty he was.

On the wall to the left of the bed was a large window; there was a door on the wall opposite it, and, when he twisted his head awkwardly to look, another door set into the wall against which the head of the bed rested, tucked into the corner. Something about the style of the furnishings, the lightness of the room even though it was getting dark outside, made him think it was a woman's chamber. A hairbrush and comb set on a small dresser suggested it to be in use.

What was going on?

Suddenly he heard something outside the room, and he found himself panicking, frightened. He forced himself to lie back down, to cover himself as much as he could with the silk sheets, to try to be calm. It might have nothing to do with him. It might only be someone walking by.

He heard voices now, female voices, two of them. One sounded deferential, and yet easy, as if a certain degree of familiarity was permitted between it and the other voice, which was decidedly more authoritative. And yet it did not sound as harsh, this voice, as those other female voices had.

The door opened and a globe of brightness filled the room; someone had brought in a lamp and set it down. A rustle of skirts and two sets of footfalls. One of the other doors opened, and the sounds of the women receded. Lindir found he'd been holding his breath, and tried to relax.

A giggle from the deferential voice, a few light words in which he heard the word 'Briot' mentioned. A question and a decided answer – he thought it must be a maid and her mistress talking – and the maid left the bedchamber, closing the door behind her.

And Lindir knew he was being observed. He could hear gentle breathing, getting louder as the woman approached the bed. Unable to help it, he flinched, and the brightness of the lamp increased as it was brought to the bedside table, and he felt the silk sheets being cautiously peeled away from his face. He screwed his eyes more tightly closed, like an elfling scared of discovery.

Suddenly the covers moved again, pulled briskly down to his shoulders and he could not help cringing away from the sudden exposure to the air, to the woman's eyes. He turned his head and to his shame, he whimpered with fear. He heard the woman gasp and step back.

She began to speak, her voice low and soft and urgent, and strangely kind, and it was too much for him; he could have coped with commands, harsh words, but her kindness undid him, and he felt his eyes prick with tears even as he turned his head to look at her, to see if her face matched her voice.

The woman was not beautiful – few human females could compare to elves – but she had an interesting face, and her expression was concerned. Her hair was neither as long or as fair as Glorfindel's, she was tall, for a human female, broad at the hips as was the way of them, dressed in a plain white garment that fell from neck to ankles, leaving her arms bare but doing her body no favours. She said something more, her tone lifting at the end so he thought she had asked him something.

'Help me?' he asked, his throat so dry he could barely understand himself. 'I am – I am lost.'

She approached again with some determination and reached for the covers, and he panicked again and grabbed at the silk sheet, holding it close against his chest.

'Lady, leave me alone, I beg you, I cannot bear it, do not touch me, please, I…'

Her face became – not stern, exactly, but impatient, and she spoke again, her tone annoyed, he thought, and she blew the breath out of her lungs as if exasperated before speaking softly and kindly once more; a question. He watched as she stepped away, giving him space to relax, lifting her fingers towards her mouth in a mime to suggest eating.

Yes, please, sweet Eru, yes, something, anything to eat or drink… a nod was universal, surely?

It seemed to be, for she crossed to the fruit bowl and brought back a bunch of grapes, placing them near where his fingers clutched the sheet and then retreating to sideboard again. He appreciated the moment's space, and began to eat.

The grapes were purple, fat, rich and full of juice, moistening his mouth and making him greedy for them. Too soon, they were gone, his mouth and dry throat refreshed, and he licked the last of the juice from his fingers.

She was looking at him, watching as he licked his lips, unconsciously echoing his action. He tipped his head to her, remembering his manners. 'Thank you,' he said.

The woman approached bearing a fruit sliced in pieces. She said something as she broke a piece in half and passed it to him, waiting for him to start so that they were eating together. He caught a name; Kovalia, and he lowered his gaze, dipping his head before pointing at himself. 'Lindir,' he said. 'Kovalia, Lindir.'

She answered swiftly, and he nodded and relief helped him to almost smile as she repeated his name back at him, saying, he thought, something about the fruit, maybe, but he was glad to have a name for her, for her to know his name. He felt safer, somehow, with the woman knowing his identity, as if it made him a person once more and he could forget he had been treated impersonally by Briot.

'Kovalia?' he began tentatively. 'I am lost, and I have lost my friends, and I need to find them again. I do not care what has happened, I will not speak of it, only please, help me…'

She listened as if hanging onto every word, and when he ended, she paused for a moment.

A short, brisk phrase, and there was a knife in her hand, and it was heading towards him – what was this, was he to be hurt further?

'Don't!' he cried out, frantic, pushing himself back and bringing his arms up to cover his throat. 'Don't, Kovalia!'

She gave a cry and began to talk quickly, her hands spread and empty now as she backed away from him, and he realised she'd not intended to harm him.

Presently, all the while watching him, she turned the knife so that the blade was pointing towards her own body and offered it to him on her open palm with a bow.

'Do you mean it? You would free me?' he whispered, reaching for the blade, a tremor in his hand as he reached for it, and he felt the silk of her skin beneath his fingers, cool under his heated skin. Abruptly she swung away, sitting at the foot of the bed, presenting him the target of her back… did she have no fear? Or did she not care that he could end her small human life in an instant?

He did not, of course. He sliced and worried at the stitching on the leather restraints until they were all severed, discarded, and he slid the chains aside. He was free, and as he moved, he saw the woman stiffen, flinch.

She really thought he would kill her.

His fear changed to pity and sympathy. Who was Kovalia, that she had chained males brought to her bed and then freed them and gave them the chance to kill her?

Or was it possible that she hadn't expected a prisoner?

He placed his hand carefully on her shoulder and spoke into her ear.

'Kovalia, I am grateful,' he said slowly, encouraging her to turn so that he could look into her eye, show his thanks and trust. He closed his eyes and bowed with his hand on his chest, as he would to a lord. 'I'm grateful.'

It seemed that she had seen how his neck was injured, for she reached out towards him. Unable to bear her touch at his throat, he caught her hand between his own, finding a smile for her.

Kovalia spoke again, lightly, kindly, as she pulled her hand out of the contact and rose to cross to her dressing table, bringing back a little jar which she handed to him, miming he should use it on his chafed skin.

A cautious sniff told him the salve within would do him no harm and possibly even some good; there was lavender there, and chamomile, and he tilted his head to spread some on his neck. It burned at the touch, but then it soothed. He applied more of the balm to his wrists and ankles. He wouldn't be able to reach the weal across his back… he could trust Kovalia, he knew that now, but knowing it and feeling safe with her were two different things. Still, he passed the pot to her.

'Would you help me, please? I cannot reach.'

Her fingers were gently careful as she spread the salve over his back and sides until she had coated the chafed areas and he found the burning of his skin ease off. She passed him back the pot and walked away, giving him privacy to tend to the damage on the front of his body.

Busy with the balm, he only realised what Kovalia was doing when he smelled the wine as she poured it. But beneath the heady richness of the wine, he could taste a pollutant in its aroma and his gorge rose at it; the same drug that had knocked him out was in Kovalia's glass and she was about to drink…

'Do not, Kovalia, don't!'

He got to her just in time to knock the glass out of her hands. The drugged wine arced through the air, splattered the walls, soaked into the dark rug where the empty glass now rolled, unbroken.

'The wine was drugged, that is how they caught me, Glorfindel found a bottle in his saddle bags…' He pointed at the glass, the decanter, the red stain. '…and we all drank it, which means my friends, too! Are there any others here, Kovalia, elves like me? Where are they, do you know?'

Kovalia looked at him, stunned, and asked a couple of brief questions; she had to be asking what was going on, why he had done it.

Lindir caught her hands, knowing to do so would capture her attention.

'Don't,' he repeated, and bent to pick up the glass, swirling it, drawing her attention to the smear left by the drug.

Again, Kovalia asked a question, lifting the decanter to sniff at its neck. She frowned, as if she could tell there was something amiss. Just to be sure, he took the decanter away from her, repeating 'do not,' and leading her away.

It was then that he saw the bedding that had been covering him lying on the floor at the foot of the bed, and realised that although he hadn't given it a thought, he was unclothed in front of Kovalia. It seemed she realised at the same moment, for her hand flew to her mouth and she fled through the door near the sideboard and shut it tight behind her.


	7. Chapter 7: Voices

The room was full of the smell of drugged wine, lavender and chamomile balm, blood and pheromones, and from this last, Lindir gathered that perhaps the sight of his naked body hadn't been entirely unpleasant to Kovalia… he waited, listening. From the room into which she had retreated all was silence for a few moments; he assumed her to be composing herself. He hoped he was right, that she hadn't been shocked or afraid; she had been kind and the last thing he wanted was to frighten her.

There were noises now, sounds as if she were rummaging through drawers or a chest, the rustle of fabrics… as his hearing focussed, he became aware of sounds outside the room, too, along the corridor some way… nothing distinct, just echoes.

Lindir forgot about the distant noises when the door opened and Kovalia emerged from the room with some clothing folded over her arm. She headed towards him a little awkwardly, keeping her eyes averted and holding out the clothes in his general direction. It made him smile, and almost without thinking he reached out to tilt her chin so that she knew it was all right to look at him.

'Thank you, Kovalia.'

He released her and took the clothes, saw her turn away and her eyes fix on the bed, at a stain in the centre of the white silk sheets, a stripe of blood. Lindir swallowed against revulsion at the reminder of his suffering even as Kovalia went to the window and threw it open. Her breath heaved like dry sobs.

Lindir stared at the bed for a moment, trying to make himself believe that the Lindir who had been so abused was not the same as the Lindir who was here now, with clothes, a knife, a friend… admittedly, a friend who couldn't understand a word he said, but still…

There was something, no longer on the edge of his hearing – the sounds he had thought he heard earlier were back, louder, but still faint. They seemed to be coming from beyond the door next to the headboard, and he thought he heard Briot's voice… it seemed a reasonable assumption, given the drugged wine, that Kovalia was in danger and so he hurried to join her, touching her shoulder gently as he spoke her name quietly.

Lindir put a finger to his lips and nodded towards the door beyond which he'd heard the voices. They became louder, and he panicked, feeling the need to hide suddenly. He dropped the clothes on the floor between the bed and the window and pulled Kovalia away and onto the bed, gathering the covers to spread over them both and dousing the lamp.

Kovalia stiffened, and he knew she had heard the voices, too. They grew louder, Briot's and the deferential voice from earlier – Kovalia's maid.

Of course, Kovalia had the advantage; she knew what was being said, which might account for the fact that she suddenly moved to spread herself on top of him. Lindir stiffened for a moment, but then heard the click of the door opening and made himself lie still.

Kovalia's heart hammered so that he could feel it through the fabric of her ugly white shift, he could feel her breath against his throat, reminding him of Briot…

But he wasn't afraid. Not of Kovalia.

The door opened and the maid called out something; Kovalia chose to answer by mumbling indistinctly and tangling herself more tightly against him. The door was pulled to, and the voices had a hushed discussion, during which Kovalia jumped, as if she'd heard something to anger her.

Finally the door was shut tightly again, the voices and footsteps faded, vanished. Presently, Kovalia disengaged and retreated across to the far side of the bed. The lack of contact suddenly made Lindir feel empty, cold.

Kovalia was asking him something, looking into his eyes as if she could see as clearly as he, and her expression, her tone was apologetic, and an underlying sense of regret made him touch his fingers to her lips. Her skin was soft, and he shivered at the memory of her lying over him and the loss of her moving away, and for whatever reason, she opened her arms and he moved his body towards her, allowing her to hold him as he shuddered; it was as if, with the sound of Briot's voice outside receding, with Kovalia's concern, he could believe that the ordeal was over, that he could perhaps begin to heal.

She held him tenderly, her hands comforting on his back, and something unexpectedly wonderful blossomed in him and he leaned across to lie over her, his lips finding hers in a kiss; he had only meant it to be a light gesture, but she rose towards him and he found his senses filling with the taste and want and need from her, and his tongue found its way into her mouth as his body responded to her gentle warmth. His hands rose to cup and cradle her head, and the kiss ended leaving him longing for more, wanting her, and a very small part of him was aware that however else he might be blighted in future as a result of Briot's attack, he would still find joy in the act of love.

He smiled down at the woman beneath him.

'Kovalia?' he asked, and there was a world of questions in the way he spoke her name, and she smiled, and welcomed him, and everything was suddenly better.

Afterwards, Kovalia fell asleep snuggled into him, and the simple comfort he felt from having this human woman trust him enough to be unconscious in front of him filled him with awe. And to think that, a few months ago, he could barely tell male and female human apart, except for their clothing, and had summarily dismissed them all as humankind, brief, noisy, shallow… he must remember, when he next saw Elrond, to tell him that.

For now Lindir really believed he would see Elrond again, he would find his friends – and that was new, too, that he felt he had friends – and somehow he would get home. And when he did, once he was away from here and this little land had made its treaty with Gondor, he would try to learn the language and he would come back and find Kovalia again…

Except as soon as he shaped the thought, he realised that for all he had not been irreparably damaged, still the thought of coming back, of finding, instead of Kovalia, Briot, filled him with dread…

Kovalia muttered something in her sleep, something gentle and warm, and she snuggled even closer against him. His arms enfolded her, cradled her, and yet it was he felt safe.

Perhaps he would find a way.

He began to hum softly, composing a theme for Kovalia; a soft, lyrical tune. He imagined a harmony, built on the melody… Kovalia stirred, and he hushed, but she was too deeply relaxed to do more than snuggle.

Lindir wasn't quite sure how long they lay like that, holding and held, but presently he heard something, the softest of sounds, and not one he could determine. He thought it might be from the adjoining room, it could have been in the corridor far away; it may even have been from outside the building, but whatever it was, Lindir came alert in an instant.

He stroked Kovalia's shoulder, looking into her face so that he was aware the instant her eyes opened, and as she lifted her head, he placed his fingers on her lips, as much to sear the memory of her soft skin into his mind as to warn her to silence. Tipping his head towards the window, he slid away from her and while she retrieved her plain white garment (he had been glad to peel it off her, to be close to all her soft skin) he dressed in the leggings she'd found for him earlier.

There was a noise again, and he was certain it came from the corridor. He stared at the door, trying to focus as Kovalia reached for the knife on the bedside table, holding it out to him hilts first as she pointed to the room to which she'd fled earlier. Yes; better get out of sight, and then if Briot came back, he would have the advantage of surprise.

Snatching up the tunic on his way, he retreated to the room, leaving the door fractionally open and hurriedly finished dressing. A glance through the crack of the door showed Kovalia covering herself in bedding and feigning sleep; even pretending she looked vulnerable, at risk, and he wished he had stayed at her side. But he was here now, and all he could do was wait.

The door to the corridor outside opened with a click.


	8. Chapter 8: Rescue Attempt

'The boy, he is back,' Torre said, looking out of the window into the night.

Glorfindel turned his head to the door as it opened to admit the urchin. Elladan and Elrohir, who had been amusing themselves with a game of knucklebones at the table, hastily gathered up the pieces and put them away, ready for whatever came next.

Erestor had been writing in a notebook and now returned it to his pocket as the little lad dashed in. There seemed to be no sense of anxiety about him; he had simply run into the house because he was a little boy, and running was fun. He greeted his aunt and uncle in his light, singsong voice, and squashed in at the table between the twins, accepting food from Carli and chattering as he ate. Torre questioned and then translated.

'Boy says the town is much life in it today. Natal day of our Lady who Leads on the morrow, blessings on her forever. Big feast at palace, lots of pickings, no-one has eyes for boy except to send on errands: Get my lady's maid, send her to Briot. Go to the third floor, speak to the dame of the washroom, see what she needs… go down to the stables, where the farrier has been working on a special thing and bring it back to the armoury… Boy has been busy.'

'Indeed,' Erestor put in, 'your nephew has been most industrious…'

'And… he saw elsh.'

'What?'

'In palace. He went to the dame of the washroom, and she sent him on an errand, and he saw the elsh taken up the stairs…'

'He saw Lindir? Was he all right?'

Torre spoke to Boy, and Boy shrugged, as only a small boy can, his shoulders rising to the level of his ears before he answered.

'Boy cannot say. Boy does not know what is all right and what is not for elsh. He was brought in the arms of… he was carried up the stairs to Briot's part of the palace.'

Erestor ducked his head, dread rising. Lindir, carried in, taken to Briot?

'Where is the palace?' Glorfindel demanded. 'How far is it, how do we get in?'

'Peace, good elfsh. All in time. Boy has not done… it is, as I told, tomorrow the natal day. But the night before it… it is known, our Lady who Leads, she had a marriage, but her man died. And she alone since. There is a tale told, a story…'

Torre lowered his voice, even though his wife and nephew had no Westron.

'The natal day is when, as well, important things at council are done. Past years, when Briot wanted to win the vote, he would do things. Change time, have big feast before… one year, put a man in her room… Lady who Lead sleeps alone all year, except the night before her natal…'

'What is he suggesting?' Glorfindel asked. 'That Lindir is a plaything for the woman, not the man? Perhaps that would be less harmful to him, if so, but still…'

'I am unsure,' Erestor replied. 'I remember overhearing the Briotani – they were to take the twins. And the other stories we had of this Briot…'

'They find him wives, our friend here said.' Glorfindel sighed. 'One for him, one for his sister…'

'He'll just have to share then,' Erestor whispered. 'That's what I heard them say…'

The twins jumped to their feet.

'How far is the palace?'

'How will we get in?'

'Patience… if we simply dash off, we will be of no use to Lindir!' Erestor said, and turned to Torre, reverting to Westron. 'We are most grateful, Torre. But now we are very worried about our friend!'

'You would do better to wait for the moon; it is soon, yet, to go, and not far.'

'But if we delay, our friend may suffer! And what will happen to him, after Briot is done with him? Will he be released?'

'Briot is not one to wait his pleasures. If your friend is to suffer, it will be already in his past.' Torre sucked at his teeth. 'Still, I will help with horses, Boy will show the way. But not to wait on you.'

'Thank you. If he will take us to the palace, that will be enough. How can we repay you?'

Torre's face split into a grin. 'See that our Lady signs our heads over to the High King. And when you get away from palace – do not stop here on your way back!'

They retrieved their weapons and strapped them back on, the twins helping Torre with the horses. Erestor thanked Carli in Westron, knowing she wouldn't understand but unwilling to slip into the local dialect at this late hour.

'Horses are ready,' Elrohir called, and they mounted up, Erestor taking charge of Lindir's horse.

'Would Boy like to ride?' he suggested, but Torre shook his head.

'A boy running in the streets at night, nobody sees. A boy on a big, fine horse led by a handsome elsh, everyone watches.'

'Good point. And thank you once more, Torre. Boy? Lead on!'

Boy, of course, had no Westron, but he understood Erestor's gesture, and dashed off into the darkness, the elves following.

He led them the long way round, Glorfindel was sure, tracking by the stars. Through the back streets, the hooves of the horses muffled by the earth underfoot, out into the scrubland behind the town, round in a long arc until finally, through a gap between two narrow rows of houses, he caught a glimpse of an open square.

'The market place,' Erestor muttered, looking in the same direction. 'We must be near now.'

Around a corner, and there was an arched entrance to a large building, finer and of better construction than any of the surrounding houses. The boy pointed, bowed, and ran off.

'This is it; we're on our own,' Erestor said.

'Better than having a small child to worry about.' Glorfindel exhaled slowly, looking around, getting his bearings. 'Someone must stay with the horses; the shadows beneath the houses back there are good and deep.'

'I had better be the one,' Erestor said.

'But what if we need a translator?' Glorfindel pointed out.

'But what if you need a warrior? Go, find Lindir, save him. You are Glorfindel, none can withstand you. I will hold the horses and wait. I am good at waiting.'

'You're wasting time!' Elladan said.

'Follow us when you've made your mind up who holds the horses,' Elrohir added, and the twins flitted into the shadow of the arch.

'Damn nuisances!' Glorfindel muttered, making Erestor smile. 'I'll give the owl cry when we're near the arch.'

He hurried after the twins, finding them in the shadows of the courtyard beyond looking at the building.

Many of the rooms appeared to be in darkness, or to have drawn curtains and a soft glow suggesting lamplight. The larger windows on the ground floors were dark, blank expanses of emptiness.

Elladan moved from shadow to shade to stand in the darkness near one of the main windows and look in. Elrohir joined him, while Glorfindel slipped through the night to investigate a smaller window. He beckoned the twins over.

'Banqueting hall,' Elrohir said.

'Hallway,' Glorfindel reported. 'Follow me.'

He led the way around the building, the three checking in the windows as they went.

'It's all quiet on the ground floor,' Elladan said.

Glorfindel raised a hand, listening intently. 'But not on the upper floors…'

From somewhere far above, on the very edge of even elven hearing, came a soft, melodic humming.

'That's Lindir's voice!' Elrohir said.

'I believe so.' Glorfindel craned his neck upwards and pointed. 'There! An open window!'

They slid through the shadows to beneath the window, following the wisps of notes… there was a balcony and an open casement, its curtains drawn wide and fluttering at the opening.

The humming subsided, stopped.

'We'll take the window,' Elladan said.

'Door,' Glorfindel said.

'We'll wait outside until we see you arrive,' Elrohir told him.

They separated.

A flight of steps down led Glorfindel to one of the servants' entrances where he picked the lock – a skill acquired back in the First Age and one which he had never forgotten. He eased inside and began to work his way through the palace, heading up the back stairs and making for the room with the open window along the dimly lit corridors.

The entire palace seemed asleep. His hearing picked up snores, relaxed breathing, the creak of bedsprings. He found what he thought was the right corridor and began cautiously opening doors, his acute vision piercing the darkness.

Closed curtains. Not this room… but it was somewhere near…

Two doors further, and he found the room. Opening the door fractionally to allow the pale light from the corridor to fall inside and signal the twins that he was in position, he took a moment to breathe and to draw his slim belt knife before inserting himself inside the chamber, closing the door softly behind him.

A figure in the bed, the top of the head showing, the curve of an ear revealing it to be a human. He was there in an instant, the knife blade going to the human's throat.

'I hope you understand Westron, but if you do not, then I will kill you anyway if you do not tell me what you have done with Lindir? Where is he?'

The figure in the bed stirred, and Glorfindel saw darkness at the window; the twins sliding into the room. Elladan went to the outer door, Elrohir headed for a second doorway visible in the corner.

The human said something that included the name Lindir, and Glorfindel flinched, involuntarily, the knife pressing harder; it was a female voice. In his haste, he had not thought…

'My friends? Is it you?'

Lindir's voice. Glorfindel could not remember when last he had been so pleased to hear a voice as he was now.

'Yes, Glorfindel, Elladan and I. Erestor is outside. Are you well?'

'I am… I am here,' Lindir's voice said as he opened the door and came out. Elrohir grabbed him.

'We were worried… were you hurt? Were you…? What happened?'

'I was captured. It was… unpleasant, but… Glorfindel! What do you think you are doing?'

Lindir pushed free of Elrohir's grasp and hurried over, gesturing wildly. 'Release her, Glorfindel, you will frighten her! Of all the…'

He sat on the bed and gathered the woman in his arms.

'She is trembling, she is frightened… you had better not have cut her, Glorfindel!'

Glorfindel shook his head, bemused as Lindir tilted the human's head, examining her throat.

'I didn't know it was a she… Lindir, we thought you were captive here!'

Lindir ignored him, listening to the woman, intent on her welfare.

'Quiet!' Elladan whispered from the door. 'We'd best go.'

Lindir nodded and turned his full attention on the woman.

'Thank you, Kovalia,' he said, and drew the woman close to kiss her. 'My friend.'

Glorfindel raised his eyes in disbelief and the twins grinned; the woman said something as Lindir released her, something that caused him to pick up a piece of fruit from the table. From the window, Elladan beckoned, and Lindir followed him, slipping over the window with a last glance at the woman.

'And to think we were worried about you!' Elladan said.

'We thought all manner of dreadful things had happened to you…'

'Some did,' Lindir said shortly, dropping from the balcony to the window ledge beneath and down to the ground. 'But Kovalia helped me.'

'We can talk later,' Glorfindel said. 'Come on. Erestor's waiting.'

They crossed to the cover of the arch and Glorfindel gave the signal owl call, leading the way across the street into the shadows where Erestor stood. He led the horses out with relief in his eyes, nodding to Lindir.

'I am glad to see you again; I have worried about you.'

'Thank you. I am glad to be back amongst friends.'

'We should hasten,' Glorfindel said, swinging up onto the back of his horse.

It was only as Lindir settled in his saddle and a jolt of pain shot through him that he remembered his injury. He gasped, trying to muffle the sound, but not before Glorfindel and Erestor heard.

Erestor climbed into his own saddle and moved his horse alongside Lindir's, Glorfindel coming to flank him on the other side.

'If you can't ride, we can walk. We know the way through the back streets; there's a place we can camp further out.'

'I'll be all right.'

'An hour's ride, that's all, Lindir.'

'I can ride for an hour. It was just the shock.'

Glorfindel nodded. 'If it gets too bad, we can stop. Otherwise, let's move out.'

He led them slowly, steadily through the streets, roughly following the outer edge of the town rather than straying too close to the centre. After a few minutes, he nodded towards a side street ahead.

'There's Boy.'

'Who?' Lindir asked, glad of anything to take his mind of the pain and its associated memories.

'A friend. His uncle and aunt sheltered us.'

Boy stepped out and bowed to them. He held up his hand, thumb tucked in, showing four fingers. A nod towards Lindir, and he made a show of extending the thumb and counting off his entire hand.

'Yes; there were four of us and now there are five.' Glorfindel nodded, and fished a coin out of his pocket, flipping it towards Boy with a grin. The child ran off into the shadows. 'Come on.'


	9. Chapter 9: Questions, Answers

It was a very long hour to Lindir's mind. While he appreciated the silent companionship of his friends, there was a part of him that felt ashamed, because he knew why they were not talking. They knew – or at least, Glorfindel and Erestor knew – what had happened and were showing their support by riding close and protecting him from having to speak.

They made camp outside the town boundaries, well away from the road and amongst a cluster of rocky boulders that provided some cover; while it would have been possible to press on to the inn at the foot of the hills, Glorfindel was loathe to take the chance of running into unfriendly individuals, and it had quickly become obvious to his observant eyes that Lindir had already taken about as much as he could bear already.

'I will stand first watch with Elladan,' Erestor announced when they reined in. 'Elrohir, will you see to the horses?'

No-one watched as Lindir dismounted – they even managed to make it seem natural, normal – each busy at his task, that was all. And as it had generally been Lindir's job to lay out the bedrolls, he prepared to do so now, spreading them out once Elrohir had removed them from the packs.

'I'll do that,' Elladan offered. 'We've been resting all day. You rest.'

Glorfindel already had a fire built and was preparing food. Lindir was left with no task, no job to distract him from the memories and recollections that suddenly crowded in on him. The huge sky above with its glittering tears of stars, the wide landscape… he felt it was all crowding in upon him…

Too uncomfortable to sit on the hard ground, he knelt instead, knees and heels slightly apart and his hands resting on his knees. Glorfindel looked at him across the fire. He paused, his eyes measuring and Lindir flushed, ashamed again.

'Talk, Lindir. Say something, anything. It helps. It doesn't matter what you say. Just… something. It reminds you you're alive.'

'I remember…' the minstrel began. 'I remember, the dark days before the ring went to Mount Doom, you gathered us in the Hall of Fire and talked to us. We all attended, except Elrond and his children…'

'I know the talk you mean.'

'It…. I think it helped.'

'Good. That is, not good that you needed to draw on the knowledge, but…'

'And you were right, I do, I did feel ashamed. I do feel… could I not have, somehow…?'

Glorfindel wanted to say they felt the same, also, that they should have stopped it, should have taken better care of Lindir, that it was his fault for giving them drugged wine, Erestor thought it was his fault for being kidnapped with him and then released. But he knew that wouldn't help. Lindir would only reimagine whatever Glorfindel said and believe himself to blame for his friends' guilt also, only adding to his own burden.

'The only one to blame was the one who harmed you,' Glorfindel said. 'He decided to do it. He chose to do it. You had no choice.'

'I didn't fight. I remembered, I'd be more hurt. And I didn't… I didn't say anything. I took myself away from it. He…' Lindir swallowed, remembering the tightness of the leather strap around his throat. 'I had a leather collar on my neck to restrain me…'

Glorfindel hissed in a breath of disgust.

'…and I knew if I pulled against it, I would black out. So that is what I did. When he was prodding and prying, I… I took myself away.'

'Then that was very brave of you, Lindir. And very clever; it disempowered him.'

'It still happened, though. But at least I did not have to know what happened. I did not have to live it. I remember what you said – we are elves, we are stronger than we think.'

'There is a reason why it was I gave the lecture. Have you never thought?'

'I… I assumed – many in the hall that night thought it was simply that you were Elrond's seneschal, it was your duty as part of our security to do so…'

'No. It was because… some parts of the First Age were very dark indeed.' Glorfindel looked down, suddenly paying all his attention to the bread he was slicing. 'I spoke from experience.'

'Then, I really thank you.'

Glorfindel looked up again, shook his head.

'And I you. Oddly, knowing my… experiences have helped you makes what I endured… I feel better, knowing I have helped, it brings something positive from the darkness. But…' He paused, shaking his head. 'It is not common knowledge. The sense of shame I spoke of…'

'It does not pass, then?'

'It passes. But we have to remember it may try to return. We have to keep rejecting the pain. And… knowing someone else knows… it reawakens it. I do not mean you, Lindir, since you know this thing also and that is… somehow supportive.'

'But those who do not know, who do not need to. I saw… I was grateful to you and Erestor, riding with me, but knowing you had realised… and not knowing what the twins know…'

'Disregard them. And Erestor is infinitely discreet. I think not even Erestor knows what Erestor knows, sometimes. You will need this.' Glorfindel threw something through the air over the fire towards him, and Lindir caught it; a small pouch, the sort healers carried. 'Everything you need is there. If asked, you could also use it on the injuries from your bonds and say that is why you have it.'

'Thank you.'

Glorfindel glanced over his shoulder. 'I think Erestor has been discreetly keeping the twins busy while we talk. Come. Sit with me… well, if you can sit.'

He said it with a small, hopeful-helpful smile, and Lindir could not help but smile in reply as he joined the seneschal.

'May I ask?'

'Anything. Really, ask.'

'How long does the immediate pain last?'

'It depends how badly, how… determined the attack. From a few days to longer. If it is longer than a week with no ease, remember, I have healing talents. But I know, this is an injury you would rather care for on your own.'

Erestor joined them, flanking Lindir.

'What supplies did the good Carli put up for us? Boy's aunt and uncle, Lindir, they took us in and kept us off the streets while Boy found out where you were being held… we owe them much…'

'We have bread and indeterminate meat, cheese which I guess is goat's cheese because I saw no milch cow… although I saw chickens, so now I am worried…'

'Well, it is food.'

'Have we water? I have great thirst…'

'Lindir, why did you not say?' Erestor was contrite. 'We have plenty. Here. Drink your fill.'

When they had all eaten and drunk, and there was little left but crumbs, Lindir drew out the half fruit he had brought from Kovalia's room.

'I do not know why, but Kovalia – the woman who helped me – said something as we were leaving to make me think she wanted me to bring it away. It is a mesri fruit, I think. She cut a slice in two and shared it with me, and that was when I began to feel I had a friend.' He passed out the slices amongst them. 'And this way, we have all eaten of the same fruit and so, Glorfindel, if you should meet her again, you will know better than to put a knife to her throat…'

'I have already explained,' the seneschal said. 'And apologised! What more do you expect? And what would you expect, I see a human who I thought had you captive…'

'Eat,' Lindir said. 'And it is done and forgiven and forgotten.'

But it was not forgotten, not all of it.

As they settled for the remainder of the night, Lindir found he needed to be able to see where everyone was before he could be easy, and then he could not find his way into reverie.

Erestor and Elrohir walked the perimeter of the camp, their watchfulness a comfort, but still, the shadows were dark. Elladan stared at the stars, oblivious as his mind walked in meditation.

Lindir felt very cold and in spite of the medical pack from Glorfindel he felt very sore, the pain reminding him of the attack, and while he tried to focus on the positives – Kovalia's friendship and her gentle kindness – his mind could not settle on it and he found to his surprise and embarrassment that he was crying.

Glorfindel listened to Lindir's sorrow in mute sympathy. He'd wondered at how well Lindir had seemed to be coping and had expected something like this… probably because this was the first time he'd been still, the first time he'd felt safe enough and alone enough to let himself feel.

Oh. Not good. This was too much for him to bear. He knew this hollow, echoing despair, it was rage and it was grief and it was fear and helplessness and above all it was confusion. It was over, done, why could one not move on, why could one not forget?

There was no answer. If there had been, Glorfindel himself would have found it a very long time ago.

As the sky was beginning to lose darkness at the eastern edges of the horizon, he picked up his bedroll and walked around the fire to where Lindir was now trying to hide his face.

'In battle, often two warriors will stand back-to-back to fight. They know they can depend on each other, they know it is the best way to protect themselves. I am going to lie down, in my bedding, with my back to you. If you put your back to mine, well, you know you will be safe and protected, back to back, we are both safe from that which we both fear.' Glorfindel spread out his bedding and pulled up his blanket. 'If you choose not to, well, it is your choice, mellon-nin.'

A few moments later, Glorfindel felt Lindir turn to lie facing the fire and with his back to the seneschal. He was no longer crying, and soon the pattern of his breathing eased and relaxed.

Glorfindel did not sleep; Lindir's emotion had woken up his own demons. In some ways it didn't matter that his own experience had been quite literally ages ago, that he had since died and spent time in the Halls of Mandos and been returned again in a new time, his memories had not gone. Still, at least his pain was giving some comfort to Lindir; perhaps that was how it would be, they would pass this pain back and forth between them until finally it was something they could bear, at last.

Elrohir took over the watch from Elladan, the sky lightened and finally Glorfindel felt relaxed enough to reverie for an hour or so. It wasn't long, but it was enough, and when he came back to full wakefulness, Lindir had risen, but had pushed his bedroll close to Glorfindel's back in his place. The thought made him smile as he stirred himself.

'Glorfindel?' Elrohir approached, not too close, trying to appear nonchalant. 'I need to ask you something.'

'Let me at least get up and stretch my legs, penneth! Then you can ask all you want…'

But when he returned from stretching his legs, it was Elladan who was waiting, trying to look casual, leaning against a rocky outcrop.

'You and Elrohir are twins, yes, but that does not make you interchangeable in my eyes. So is this a different thing to the thing your brother would ask, or is it the same thing?'

Elladan had the grace to look slightly shamefaced.

'No, it's the thing I would ask after you have answered Elrohir's question… we were hoping to get to the point gently, so to speak…'

'Well, it looks like you're going to have to wait for him to finish with the horses, or whatever he's doing… or ask both questions… or ask your own without him. But hurry up, I want to break my fast.'

'Very well. So, my part in the question is… and what are we going to do about it?'

'Good question.' Glorfindel nodded. 'I would say we're going to think about it over breakfast.'

The ebony-haired elf gave a rueful half-smile. 'Well, it seems I must ask Elrohir's question for him, too…'

'Only if you feel you must, penneth…'

'Has Lindir been… hurt? Because, he hasn't said much, and he's trying to be just the same as ever, but too hard, somehow. And we don't want to say the wrong thing…'

'Then don't say anything.' Glorfindel shrugged. 'But my answer holds; I'll think about it over breakfast.'


	10. Chapter 10: The Result of the Vote

By folding his bedroll beneath him, Lindir was able to sit through breakfast without too much physical discomfort. Aware of the surreptitious scrutiny of four pairs of eyes on him throughout the meal, however, he felt mentally and emotionally very uncomfortable indeed. They were trying not to stare, he knew that, and it was only because they were his friends, that they cared about him, that they were looking at him in the first place.

But he didn't think he could carry on for much longer like this.

Finally, steeling himself, he took a breath and began to talk, keeping his eyes lowered.

'My friends, I am grateful to you for your rescue. I am grateful that you have talked to me, and that you have known when not to talk to me. But it is awkward, now, and I do not know how to make it easier.'

He looked up suddenly, holding the twins' attention.

'Elladan, Elrohir, I know you are worried and that instead of asking me what happened, you will ask Erestor or Glorfindel, to spare my feelings. But being talked about is almost as bad as being talked to, did you know that?'

Elrohir shook his head. 'I hadn't realised. And we are worried about you – we don't even know what hap…'

'I was drugged and woke up alone and bound and a man was touching my hair with dirty hands and made me feel unclean. I was dragged into a house and brought before another man who I understood to be Briot. Then they took me away and stripped me. Women washed me, treating me like I was laundry, not even like I was a person, and then I was harnessed and shackled and left chained naked on a bed until Briot came…' Lindir paused and stared at Elladan. 'Are you sure you want me to continue?'

Elladan flushed and ducked his head away, hunching a shoulder awkwardly. But it was Erestor who spoke, himself eyeing the twins.

'I would ask for you to continue, Lindir, if you can. You see, I was kidnapped too, and released, for the kidnappers made a mistake. They had been told to take 'the same-looking ones' – in other words, the twins. Yes, there is an irony there, the humans who cannot tell elves apart… my point is that what happened to you, mellon-nin, is what would have happened to Elladan and Elrohir. Whether or not they wish to, I think they ought to know how much they owe you.'

'It was… unpleasant. He pulled my hair, my chains, he… his hands… his breath, it was… terrifying, knowing and not knowing and… I tried to take myself away, thinking of other things and he was poking and prodding and mauling me and pushing me how he wanted me, and he was talking and I couldn't… the collar was tight and I knew if I pulled against it enough… I was able to make myself lose consciousness before he could… before the worst of it.'

Elrohir shook his head. 'Lindir… how can you talk so calmly about it?'

'I really do not know. Perhaps because words are what I do. Perhaps Kovalia's compassion had something to do with it. When I came to, instead of being chained on Briot's bed, I was under the covers in another chamber.' He gave a shrug and picked at the bread he'd been trying to eat. 'The worst is told.'

'But not all,' Erestor said. 'Lindir, they wanted the twins – one each, I heard the man say. Your Kovalia – do you know who she is?'

'She is Kovalia. I think she is of high status, she had a maidservant who spoke to her freely and yet with respect, and Kovalia spoke with authority in her voice. The room was well-appointed and the bedding of good quality. She did not seem surprised to find her bed occupied, but when she saw my chains, she was clearly startled.'

'Because of your chains, or your ears?' Glorfindel asked.

'Maybe both. She gave me food and found a knife, handing it to me and showing me her back as if offering herself as a target.'

'She let you go. And then?'

'Found me salve for where the leather straps had cut me. Went to drink a glass of wine and I smelled the drug – the same that was in our wine. I stopped her drinking it. But who would have wished to drug her, and why?'

'The same who drugged us,' Erestor suggested. 'Briot. We do not know the name of his sister, this Lady who Leads, but from my eavesdropping, the intention was twofold – to distract her from the vote to give allegiance to Gondor, and to discredit her in the eyes of the King's representatives – if the story got out that she'd had a captive elf in her room, would it be likely that the King, with an elven wife, would want to ally with her? I think the intention was always to release you afterwards, Lindir, with enough having happened that you would protest and seek redress.'

'You still can, you know,' Glorfindel said. 'Briot doesn't have to get away with it.'

Lindir smiled sadly. 'But, mellon-nin, if I protest Briot's treatment of me, that will let him see that he harmed me. I would not have him know. And, if he has done this simply to thwart his sister's plans, then I will not aid him in that. Kovalia… you do not know how kind she was…'

'Yes, you've said – food and a knife and a salve and stuff, but, Lindir!' Elladan protested.

Something in Elladan's tone nettled him, and Lindir found himself speaking up in Kovalia's defence.

'She saw… there was blood, so she knew what had been done to me. She was outraged – not that her plaything was come to her second-hand, before you say it – but because she saw I had been injured and it distressed her. But everything she did, from the moment she saw my chains, was to help and comfort me, and I am grateful that she eased my fëa with her gentleness after I had endured such harsh treatment elsewhere.' He almost scowled at Elladan. 'She showed me that, whatever else, my future was not hopeless and that not everything had been spoiled for me. And now, is there anything else you think you need to know about my captivity?'

There was a surprised silence following this; Lindir was not given to outbursts of this nature and it was this, as much as his choice of words, that demonstrated how deeply troubled he really was.

'Are you still in pain?' Elladan asked presently.

'Yes, I am in much discomfort.' Lindir sighed. 'Forgive me, I had not realised how difficult this would be to talk about.'

'No, don't apologise. Really, I feel bad enough… to think it might have been me…'

'You could have been lucky.' Lindir shrugged and found a smile from somewhere. 'You could have got Kovalia. Not that I think she would have looked twice at you, for she is a lady of great taste and refinement…'

'Well, she looked very refined when you were kissing her goodbye,' Glorfindel put in, relieved the mood had turned lighter. 'If we're done eating, we should be moving on. As I remember, if we stay on the road we have no choice but to pass through Low Village and its associated inn… I think it might be better if we head across country and meet up with the mountain path some way beyond. The terrain is a little awkward, though; we'd be better off on foot and leading the horses…'

'Really?' Lindir asked as everyone else dispersed.

'No, not really, not at first. It was a bad idea to make you ride last night, but we were in a hurry to get you away. This morning, I think everyone's going to be so busy with the vote in Main Town, they won't be looking anywhere else. If we can get to High Village Inn before nightfall, the landlord was very helpful when we went back after we lost you, and we can lie up there for a day or two, send a message on ahead, perhaps.'

It took them most of the morning to pick their way through the hinterlands and skirt Low Village and when they came to the lower slopes of the mountains, Glorfindel was proved right; the way would have been very difficult on horseback. But by the time they'd stopped for an hour to rest the horses in the day's heat, Erestor was looking anxiously up towards the summit of the pass.

'I do not think we have time to make the inn before nightfall, not on foot,' he said softly, addressing himself to Glorfindel but with an apologetic glance at Lindir. 'It is up to you, whether you wish to risk camping again?'

'No, I think we should press on. We don't know how to read the weather here, and if another sandstorm blows in while we're on the mountain…'

'Agreed. Well, whenever you are ready.'

Glorfindel held the bridle for Lindir to mount and spoke soothingly, apparently to the horse, but to Lindir it was an unobtrusive gesture of support and it gave him courage. The first few minutes in the saddle were uncomfortable, reminders of the event as much as painful in their own right, but he adapted, he endured. As Glorfindel had said, long ago in the hall of fire: 'We are elves. We are stronger than we think.'

Even so, he was very glad when they reached the top of the pass and made their way to the sheltered plateau where High Village and its inn huddled against the hills and he was able to slide out of the saddle and stand on firm ground.

The stable boy dashed out to take their horses and attend to them, and the innkeeper came out and looked as if he wanted to disappear back into the inn again. He gazed in particular at Lindir and bowed low to them all.

'Welcome back, masters elf! Gentle lords, will you have your same rooms again?'

'We will have all your rooms,' Glorfindel said. 'We will pay, but so that if any Briotani should pass this way, you are full.'

'But… if they come, and see empty rooms, even paid-for rooms, they will be angry… And, gentle lords, it is the Natal Day of the Lady who Leads us; all the village will come to drink her health at my inn today and some may want to stay…'

'We will hire your inn, all of its rooms, all of its stabling. If any of your friends from the village need them, then of the rooms we pay for they may, of course, have the use. We only wish to fill your inn so that there is no room for any Briotani who may cross the mountains,' Glorfindel said.

'Do my lords mean this? You would pay for rooms for the village to use?'

Glorfindel shrugged at Erestor. 'We are on our way out of the fiefdoms. Perhaps now is not a bad time to admit you know the language.'

'Perhaps. And yet it seems like a deceit, to have kept the truth so long.' Erestor turned to the innkeeper. 'We will talk better inside,' he said, keeping to Westron for the moment.

Once indoors, Glorfindel noticed how Lindir relaxed as soon as the door was closed. He kept back from the discussion between Erestor and the landlord, but noted that the language in use had moved now from Westron into the local dialect. The few villagers who were present looked on – and, indeed, listened in – with curiosity.

'I have no idea what Erestor is saying!' Glorfindel said. 'And it is my own fault, for suggesting he speak in the local tongue!'

'Could you interrupt long enough, do you think, to bespeak our rooms?' Lindir asked.

But Erestor had heard him, and spoke the question to the innkeeper, who in turn beckoned a pot boy forward.

'The same rooms as before, and the boy will bring food and beer presently,' Erestor said. 'I am currently explaining my new linguistic skills to our host… go and get settled, I will not be long. We should keep together as much as possible.'

Once safe in his room, Lindir cast himself face down on the bed with a sigh. Glorfindel followed him in, taking a seat by the door and the twins stood looking out of the window onto the dry, dusty village.

'The vote will have been taken long since,' Lindir said. 'And the people of Main Town will know their fate. How long, do you think, before the news reaches here?'

Glorfindel shrugged.

'It depends on whether it is good news or bad, and who is in the greatest hurry to spread it,' he said. 'In theory, it could have preceded us, if the vote were taken quickly and a rider sent out with the result immediately. But I do not think that is how things happen, here. We will stay until we know.'

'And we had better be ready to leave in a hurry, if their Lady doesn't carry the vote,' Elladan added.

A few moments later, Erestor joined them.

'Well, our friend the innkeeper is very pleased to see us and to see we have found our friend. He was not sure, at first, if we would have any grievance with him…'

'But it is not his fault we didn't listen to his warnings…'

'I think he is used to being blamed for things that are not his fault. I have instructed that a message be carried to Ithilien with all haste informing them that we are on our way but will be staying here for a few days.'

'A few days?' Elladan protested.

'Why would we want to do that?' Elrohir added.

'To give me chance to heal,' Lindir said. 'To learn the result of the vote and what the villagers think of it.'

'We are out of immediate danger, and the landlord is eager to make amends for his perceived failings,' Erestor said. 'Once we have eaten and rested, we should join the company to hear what news from Main Town; word is expected to come before midnight.'

Word did, indeed, come. The expected messenger arrived a little after midnight, but the villagers at the inn were still busy celebrating their Lady who Leads' Natal Day and so had not noticed the passing of time.

The innkeeper heard the news first, and repeated it loudly for all to hear who would.

'The vote has gone through,' Erestor translated. 'The ratification of the treaty was agreed, with only three votes against and more than forty in favour. The draft was signed and has been horsed to Gondor…'

'Horsed?' Glorfindel queried.

'That is the literal translation,' Erestor said a little stiffly. 'I was attempting to give a flavour of the dialect; a messenger on horseback has been dispatched… and all is done… Ah. Oh, this is interesting…'

'We are sure it is, Erestor, but until you choose to share it with us…?'

'Patience, Glorfindel… the Lady who Leads, she has passed an edict that the learning of Westron and of Elvish…' Erestor paused to sigh. '…should be encouraged. And she herself has declared any with knowledge of such languages to present themselves to her as teachers.'

'A job for you, Lindir, if you fancy it?' Glorfindel grinned.

'Indeed, if it were not for Briot…' Lindir shuddered, and Erestor interrupted quickly.

'It would not do; it would require one who knew both this mythical 'elvish' and the local dialect.'

'A job for you, then, Erestor!' Elladan suggested.

'I already have a job, thank you! But I will explain to the messenger… and it might not hurt to mention this call for teachers in Ithilien and Gondor… it would be a good way to observe the populace as they prepare for the signing of the treaty. Still, we can rest easy tonight.'

Glorfindel rearranged the rooms so that he was next door to Lindir. 'If you need anything, just knock on the wall,' he said privately to him. 'Or we could share, if you wanted.'

Lindir shook his head. 'I am sure I'll be fine. As Erestor said, we can rest easy tonight.'


	11. Chapter 11: Stormbound

The next day, a storm blew in, piling sand grains and howling gales against the shutters of the inn.

Lindir didn't mind the storm; while it was raging and screaming outside, he could imagine it was howling his own rage and despair, and it helped as he entered the next stage of his recovery. For now the shock was over, the immediate physical pain receding, he was awash with lightning mood changes and great swoops of emotion, carrying him from relief he had survived to the blackest gloom when he remembered the prying, poking fingers and almost casual menace of Briot's assault.

Glorfindel proved himself an unremitting, insistent friend.

When, during the remnants of the first night at the inn, Lindir had woken up clutching his throat and with the remains of a scream hanging heavy in the air, there had come a gentle knocking on the wall of the chamber, swiftly followed by a tapping at his door.

'It is I, Glorfindel,' his friend had said. 'Are you all right?'

'I am sorry, I disturbed you! I am fine. Go back to bed.'

'Oh, I shall presently. I have brought my bedroll with me and will lie against your door with my back to it, so that you know you are guarded. Or would you like me to come in and bear you company for a while?'

Lindir sighed and went to unlock the door.

'Glorfindel, you have been so kind a friend. The last thing I want is to become an annoyance…'

'Elladan is an annoyance. Elrohir is an annoyance. That potboy who stares as if he doesn't know whether to worship us 'elsh' or run away, he is an annoyance.' Glorfindel closed and secured the door behind him. 'You are not. You are my friend, a fellow-survivor, if you will.'

He took a seat near the window, watching as Lindir sank onto the bed, his hands so tightly entwined that Glorfindel wondered whether the minstrel would be able to untangle them without help.

'This is usual, Lindir,' he said. 'I will not say, normal, for these are not normal circumstances. It is your fëa's way of purging you of the horror of the experience; while we sleep, we can be braver than when we are awake.'

'I did not feel brave. In… in my dream, I did not lose consciousness. In the dream, he…'

Lindir fell silent, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs. If ever he needed a comforting arm, a pat on his back, it was now. But Glorfindel held back with a sigh. It was also potentially the worse possible moment to touch his damaged friend, so he reached out with words instead.

'Well, if you can consider the matter objectively for a moment… we are elves, we know everything – or we like to think we do – and any blank or gap in our knowledge is impossible for us to bear without trying to find out what we have missed. Your mind is simply trying to fill in the blanks.'

'But I do not want to know!' Lindir protested, although as soon as he said it, he began to wonder.

'It happened, mellon-nin. I think, if I may say so, that your actions in losing consciousness will have hastened the end of your ordeal. He would not have stopped, no matter what, but I am sure it was less fun for him that you were not awake to hear his taunts, to appreciate some of the finer indignities.'

'Glorfindel, I know that your own experiences will have been far worse than my own, and…'

'No. No such thing, Lindir.'

'But, mellon-nin… I… ran away from the reality…'

'To refuse to give him power over you. To protect yourself. My own experience? Yes, it was very different. But you and I are very different. I am a warrior, used to violence of one form or another, taught almost to expect such treatment if captured by the enemy. You have been sheltered, unused to warfare. My attack took place in the long ago, yours, almost in the now.' He shrugged. 'Truly, it is not the same. But that does not make your suffering any the less.'

Lindir thought for a moment, then nodded, accepting.

'Ultimately, we are both survivors,' he said.

'And we will continue surviving. More than that, we will live, and we will love.'

'Have you, Glorfindel? Have you been able to love, since?'

The golden haired warrior nodded, eyes wary, preventing Lindir from asking further.

'I'm not going to pry, do not worry,' Lindir said swiftly. 'I simply thought… perhaps I have been lucky, to have Kovalia's kindness so soon after… to find so quickly that I could still feel comfort from the physical act of love.'

'I was in no such case – months from home and from the one I cared about. And I did worry it would be spoiled between us. But I decided I would not let that happen, and I had time to strengthen my resolve. It was not easy, but we weathered the storm together. May I ask, has it always been females for you, Lindir?'

'Yes, until now. But not many. Yourself?'

'I have always responded to the person, giving less attention to matters of gender. At the time, I was with an elleth of great beauty, but after we parted, I found I could look at no ellon without trepidation. So for a time, I was changed.'

'I find I miss her, Glorfindel. I wish Kovalia were in my future and not my past. Is that… usual?'

'That I cannot say,' his friend replied. 'I would be inclined to think it not connected with the attack. It may be that she is simply a nice woman who gave you comfort when you needed it.'

'Yes. Not a sheep, nor a wolf, and not really a shepherd, but a shepherdess. If Kovalia really is the Lady who Leads, then the people will be safe in her care.' He glanced at Glorfindel. 'As I will be safe, for I have friends around me. Thank you for listening, Glorfindel.'

'You know, Elladan and Elrohir have a door between their two rooms which they can leave open. I am sure, if I asked them, they would swap with you and I. But for tonight, I will spread my bed out where I can lie with my back against the door.'

'No need. Spread it on the bed; I will be under the covers and face the window if you put your back to mine and face the door.'

'Very well. And tomorrow we will see about swapping rooms with our twins.'

'What will the landlord say, though?'

'Who cares?' Glorfindel shrugged. 'We can say we didn't like the view. But after all, we're paying him enough.'

The storm hit early the next morning and kept everyone at the inn throughout the day; it was almost midnight before it began to abate. During the evening, to pass the time, some of the locals began to sing. After a few songs, Elladan and Elrohir, quickly picking up the tunes, began to join in the choruses, following with a song of Ithilien, which was not so far away that the melody was unfamiliar, even if the words were unknown. They were applauded and complimented, Erestor translating, and asked for more.

'No, we don't know any more songs except those of home, and Lindir would be better at those!' Elladan protested.

'They are too unfamiliar, I think,' Lindir said.

'No, but you have by far the better voice! It's a while since we heard you sing, why not?'

Elrohir nudged his brother in the ribs. 'Perhaps that's because Lindir has not much felt like singing,' he said.

'No, I think I could sing,' Lindir said quickly, before Elladan could start apologising. 'Our village friends seem to like the shape and sounds of our language, even if they do not understand it. But our twins are right; most of the songs we know are very different from those we have heard, and I am not sure what to give them. I have a thought for a new work, though, and I have been thinking of sharing it with you. It has no words yet, just a melody and harmonies, but I can sing my thoughts and perhaps it will help me see how to shape the verses…'

He began to hum the soft and lilting melody he had composed for Kovalia, and when he had laid down the background melody for the twins to hum along, he began the counterpart, singing his thoughts in Sindarin.

'As she rested against my chest, as she slept, I thought how trusting she was. She had freed me from restraint, handed me a knife and presented her vulnerability to me as a gift…

'She made herself helpless to me as only the powerful can know. As only the compassionate can dare. Her simple need took away my shame, her dignity gave me back my self-respect…

'Her generosity gave value to my suffering. And so that is why I think I am in love with Kovalia.'

He repeated the last phrase again and stopped singing to find his friends staring at him as the room fell still for a heartbeat before the villagers shouted their approval, tapping their tankards on the table tops in their way of applauding the song.

'What's the matter?' he asked a gawping Elrohir, nearest him and generally the kindest of critics. 'I thought it sounded well in Sindarin, and it is but my thoughts for the content, it is not shaped yet into proper words…'

'You think you are in love with Kovalia?' Elladan echoed while Elrohir continued gawping.

'It is but a thought that came to me while I was singing…'

'Well, it's a lovely tune,' Erestor said, turning back from where the innkeeper had been asking him something with a frown on his face. 'But our host doesn't understand why you are singing about a piece of fruit…'

'What?'

'Kovalia. It is a word he knows, it is fruit, very rare, very expensive, hard on the outside and soft and sweet within.'

'But… it's Kovalia, it is about her, that is the name she gave me…'

Linder felt bewildered suddenly, unreasonably. Had Kovalia done it deliberately, given him a false name? If so, then how much else had been false between them?

'I expect it's just a misunderstanding of the language,' Erestor said kindly, seeing Lindir struggling. 'It is not the sweetest of dialects, and the word order is arbitrary and the words themselves change with more frequency than does the weather here… it makes Quenya look simple, really, Lindir… I will tell him it is a song in honour of their Lady who Leads, and that you liken her qualities of strength to endure and kindness of heart.'

'But, Erestor – if she is not Kovalia, how will I find her again?'

'But, Lindir, if she is the Lady who Leads, what could be easier than to send her a message? And if she is not Kovalia, then she might be able to find her for you. I will be glad to help translate such a message if you wish to write one.'

'True. Very true, Erestor, and my thanks. I will do so. I will wait until we get to Gondor, and I will compose a letter… but what if she doesn't want to think of me, or if she is busy?'

'Lindir, you're putting too much thought into it,' Glorfindel said. 'And now isn't the moment; I think they want you to sing it again.'


	12. Chapter 12: Towards Ithilien

By the time the elves were ready to leave High Inn several days later, Lindir had, largely speaking, physically recovered from his ordeal. Emotionally, mentally, his progress was slower.

As Glorfindel had suggested, they swapped rooms with Elladan and Elrohir, and left the connecting door open between the two chambers. Even so, Lindir woke screaming in the early hours of the morning, and Glorfindel had spent the rest of the night in his bedroll on top of the bed, facing the door while Lindir lay looking towards the window until he finally relaxed enough to slip into an uneasy reverie.

'You are such a good friend,' Lindir said, and Glorfindel had shaken his head.

'I had good friends around me, after,' he replied. 'I am only passing on their kindness.'

The rest of the stay had been better; true, Lindir had startled out of reverie more than once, but with the yell still in his throat and not escaping from it, and he began to hope that his mind would soon get bored with trying to relive the attack. Instead, he attempted to counteract the unpleasant memories with the happier recollections of Kovalia, her kindness, her loving embrace. After this, the nights passed more easily, and if he did jar himself awake out of reverie, then there were, at least, thoughts of Kovalia to console him.

He thought about her constantly now, when he was alone, when the others were talking. He told himself he was simply refining the song he had written for her, and that this was the real reason he was spending so much time thinking about the exact shade of her eyes, the precise texture of her soft skin, even though there wasn't anywhere in the song for them to go. He told himself he was a musician, such concepts would show in the subtleties of harmony and tempo, but the truth was, he held on to the memory of her like a talisman, like a light in the dark.

Trying to be practical and looking to the future, too, he asked Erestor to give him some tuition on the local dialect in their quiet moments, and he studied hard, hoping to hear a word he might recognise here and there from speech with Kovalia, so that even when he pretended he was attempting to steer his thoughts away from her, they kept returning.

On the day they left High Inn, setting off after an early breakfast, they made it down to the little town of Foothills by early afternoon.

They called in at the inn, intending to bait their horses and eat a swift meal, finding themselves remembered, and welcomed, and pressed for information about the vote, as if they had been there; the villagers of Foothills found it difficult to believe that so many 'elsh' would be in Main Town at the time of the vote, and not be invited in to the Council Chamber.

'Perhaps we had better not tell them quite what happened,' Glorfindel murmured, and Lindir managed to smile.

'At least we can say that we were pleased to hear that the Council supported the notion,' he said.

Their voluble grey-haired lady presented herself with much bobbing and nodding, and the twins shuffled apart to make room for her between themselves, grinning and shrugging.

'I suppose she's going to want to know how we got on,' Elladan said. 'Whether we became wives, at all.'

'Perhaps we had better steer clear of the topic,' Erestor said, shooting a look towards Lindir, practising his very basic knowledge of the dialect on the innkeeper at the counter. 'Our friend is doing well, but it might be an inappropriate reminder.'

'I'll see how he's getting on,' Glorfindel suggested, pushing himself away from the table. 'Make sure he isn't talking himself into a corner.'

Elladan raised an eyebrow at the golden-haired warrior's back.

'If he doesn't watch himself, our good friend here will be thinking those two are each other's wives!'

'Elladan!' Erestor protested. 'That remark was in very bad taste! Glorfindel is simply trying to be helpful; as seneschal of Imladris, he feels responsible for security and safety and he believes he has a duty of care towards Lindir now. If you hadn't noticed, he blames himself for allowing Lindir and me to be kidnapped.'

'I really meant nothing by it,' Elladan said, spreading his hands in apology. 'And the Valar know Lindir needs a friend after that…'

'But if we're going to be amongst our own folk soon, if we're walking alongside the Men of Gondor…' Elrohir said slowly, thinking it through. 'Do you think someone should point out to Glorfindel that he looks possessive and not just protective, at times?'

'By 'someone', I expect you mean me.' Erestor sighed. 'Very well; you do, perhaps, have a point…'

He dropped into Desert Winds dialect for a moment in answer to something the old woman said, and then asked her a question in return. Her answer was long, complicated, effusive, and punctuated by many hand gestures and smiles.

'What did you ask?' Elrohir raised an eyebrow at Erestor. 'Her entire life story?'

'I asked only if she knew the name of their Lady who Leads…'

'And?'

'Basically, no.'

The twins were still laughing when Glorfindel and Lindir got back to the table.

'What did we miss?' the seneschal wanted to know.

'Erestor just had a five-minute conversation with Mistress Foothills here, and then said she said she didn't know what he asked…'

'It was not so simple; I merely didn't wish to go through the entire tale twice! Lindir, I tried to ask if she could tell us the name of the Lady who Leads; the name is never used by ordinary folk, their Leader's name is private to their family and closest circle of intimates and it is a great informality for any other to use it. The title is more respectful, and all wish to pay proper respect to her, whom they love so well.'

'I see. So we still do not know for certain that she and my Kovalia are the same person.' Lindir sighed. 'Thank you for trying to find out.'

'You can write from Gondor, if you wish. How did you get on with your Desert Winds dialect?'

'Ai, I muddled up the numbers and almost ended up with one glass of wine and five loaves of bread… Glorfindel helped.'

'I find it's easier just to point and hold up the right number of fingers,' Glorfindel said. 'And talking loudly helps.'

'No, it really doesn't,' Erestor said under his breath. 'I have told you many times…'

'Never mind. Eat your food, pour the lady a glass of wine, and then we can call for the horses and head for the border.'

Now as they rode, the landscape began to change from sere and brown to sprinkled with grey, tired green. It was a small change, but it was enough of one to make them feel they were really leaving the desert behind.

Their pace was slower than on the journey down; the vote had been taken, the result known, and there was no need to hurry and good reason to go gently. For while Lindir was much better, he still could not ride for very long, or very quickly, without some pain returning, and as evening began to loom around them, he leaned in his saddle as if trying to ease the discomfort.

'As I recall, we're an hour away from that terrible in where the bread was harder than the beds,' Glorfindel said. 'Or we could stop here for the night, what do you say?'

His question was aimed at the group generally, but his eyes returned to Lindir.

Erestor replied for them all.

'There is shelter here, there is even a small stream for the horses, although we will need a watch lest it attract night predators. With a fire, we should be safe enough and I, for one, have no longing for hard beds and harder bread when the ground is, at least, of a known quality.'

Glorfindel nodded and dismounted, and was reaching out to take Lindir's bridle when he found Erestor there to help before him. Lindir slid from his mount's back with a sigh, not noticing who had aided him, but muttering vague thanks while Glorfindel stared at Erestor's hand on the horse's bridle, and wondered why he was annoyed.

'We will see to the horses,' Elrohir offered, and the moment passed in the bustle of making camp, but later, once the fire was burning and the horses tethered and the bedrolls spread, Glorfindel followed Erestor to the stream to fetch water.

'What were you doing?' he asked. 'It's my job to help Lindir. There was no need for you to step forward.'

Erestor sat back on his haunches, the waterskin beside him.

'I am sorry if I offended you. It was not my intention.'

'Offended…?'

'It was nothing, one of those silly remarks Elladan is still capable of from time to time. While you were translating for Lindir in the inn, Elladan commented that our elderly female friend might think you and Lindir were…' He cleared his throat. This was probably not the best way to voice his concern, but having started, he had no choice but to press on. '…each other's wives. Now, before you become angry…'

But Glorfindel did not look angry. His expression was astonished, so Erestor continued with his explanation to fill the time until Glorfindel worked out what he was thinking and why he was so troubled by a simple hand on a bridle.

'Glorfindel, we all know you feel you are our guardian warrior, that it is your duty to protect us all and that you feel responsible for what happened. And you have been unfailingly supportive to our poor friend. But we will be back in lands we know, soon. Your attentiveness could be mistaken for attention…'

Glorfindel swore explosively, and Erestor shrugged.

'You have been a very kind and thoughtful friend to Lindir. He is starting to recover, but I am concerned that too much consideration may work against his recovery. And if it is you, constantly, helping, then he is less likely to see his own improvement.'

'You may be right,' Glorfindel said with a shrug. 'But I've become used to helping him.'

'I am not saying, do not help him. I am saying, let us help, too, lest the Men of Gondor think there is more between you than there is, and make assumptions about Lindir's preferences. Such a notion, if voiced where Lindir could hear it, could prove an unpleasant reminder.'

'And the irony is, I doubt he will ever consider a male partner. Not now.'

'No.' Erestor smiled and returned to his task, dipping the waterskin into the stream to fill it. 'No, he is far too deeply in love with the memory of Kovalia to think of anyone else, whatever their gender. Well, this is done. Would you help me up?'

Glorfindel extended his arm and hauled Erestor up the bank. At the top, the advisor held the warrior's gaze.

'What happened was not your fault. It is easy to feel responsible; I felt guilty myself, for being so sour of face I was not taken, too… ridiculous, I know, but I could not shake the notion that, if Lindir had not been there alone…'

Glorfindel grinned suddenly, equilibrium restored and took charge of the now-full waterskin.

'Well, you cannot help having had the kind of life that has set your face in such stern lines, Erestor… yet one would not have to be very drunk to be attracted to you…'

The advisor permitted himself a smile, eyes dancing.

'Oh, a fine compliment, indeed! Whereas one would have to be drunk and stupid to be drawn to such a wondrous specimen as yourself… and pass me back that waterskin, you'll drop it if you laugh any harder…'

Glorfindel was still grinning when they returned to the camp to find food ready and the bedrolls spread. His smile faltered a little as he saw Lindir's had been placed against where a steep bank rose behind, but he quirked an eyebrow at himself and decided Erestor was right; he was fussing over Lindir like a naneth with her elfling, and it was better for Lindir that he stop. Better for both of them, perhaps.

'I'll take first watch,' he said.

Lindir woke with a start and the taste of a bad, bad dream in his mouth. The camp fire had died to embers, but gave off a soft glow. At his back, the bulk of the bank rose up protectively, and just beyond the ring of bedrolls he could see a black shape against the darkness; Glorfindel pacing as he kept watch on the camp.

He was safe, and what was more, he knew he was safe. Tomorrow, or the next day, they would be back in South Ithilien, and the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds, and all its associated memories, would be behind him.

Including Kovalia.

He ran the melody of his song through his mind, practiced imaginary fingering on the lute, considered how wonderful it would be to sing the song to her, and found his way back into reverie.


	13. Chapter 13: An Unwelcome Reminder

As the travelling conditions improved, so, too, did Lindir's mood, and if he noticed there were now four elves in turn holding his bridle and quite literally watching his back, he saw it less that Glorfindel was stepping aside and more that his other friends were reassured that he was recovered enough to be treated normally again.

So South Ithilien passed, and when the inn at Osgiliath was found to have no connecting rooms, Lindir was comfortable enough to say it did not matter, and surprised even himself by passing the night in undisturbed reverie and was able to join the others feeling properly rested for once.

Lindir took his seat at the breakfast table, listening as Erestor spoke.

'We should reach Minas Tirith by early afternoon, if we set off soon and ride at a good pace,' he said.

'Or we can take a more leisurely ride across the Pelennor Fields and come there later,' Glorfindel suggested.

'Why would we wish to do that?' Erestor countered. 'It is hardly going to be scenic, this soon after the war… and surely Elladan and Elrohir are keen to see their sister as soon as possible?'

'After so long apart a few hours isn't going to matter,' Elladan shrugged. 'Besides, I think my brother had too much of that appalling beer last night; he looks a little peaky…'

'Peaky? Peaky? I would have you know…'

But Elladan's eyes had slid to where Lindir was sitting with a slight smile on his face, apparently enjoying the exchange, and Erestor realised it wasn't Elrohir who was looking off-colour, but that there was a tightness to Lindir's eyes and the ghost of a tremor to his hands. Of course – the sooner they reached Minas Tirith, the sooner Lindir would have to talk about their time in the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds with all the recollections and associations that would bring…

'Oh, very well!' Erestor said, throwing up his hands as if exasperated. 'For the sake of your very old bones, Glorfindel, we will ride more slowly. That is, if you are not so decrepit that being late for the noon meal will make you faint?'

'If so, then I will depend on your young, strong arms to bear me up,' Glorfindel said.

'Ha! My young, strong arms will be folded across my chest as I shake my head in disappointment at your lack of stamina…'

Thinking himself unnoticed, Lindir gave a sigh of relief. He would be fine, he knew; he was being foolish, no doubt. But now the reality of how near to Gondor he was had begun to sink in, he was feeling the old stir of anxiety again.

He might not need to say anything about his experiences to Elessar Telcontar, the High King whom Lindir knew better, even now, as Aragorn… he would, though, be able to talk at length about Kovalia, her kindness, and the others would be able to speak of the helpfulness of the people towards strangers. He would be able to voice his opinion of the importance of the alliance, and the worth of the people, generally.

Surely, if anything unpleasant had to be mentioned, one of his friends would do it?

As soon as the thought occurred to him, he began to realise that if he was to properly leave the memory behind in the past where it belonged, he would have to learn to speak about it without flinching.

'Well, that's settled then,' Glorfindel was saying now. 'We'll take a leisurely breakfast here, bespeak lunch for the road, and ride out gently to spare my old bones and Elrohir's delicate head.'

'Very well.' Erestor paused and shrugged. 'And at some point we will need to consider what we will say to Aragorn and how we will say it.' He looked an apology towards Lindir. 'I am aware this will be difficult for you, mellon-nin.'

'Perhaps talking amongst ourselves first will be good preparation; after all, we are all strongly in favour of the king accepting the fiefdom's wish to join the kingdom.'

'You can leave us to do the talking,' Elrohir suggested.

'If it helps,' Elladan added.

Lindir shook his head.

'I am most grateful that you would spare me this,' he said. 'But you were not there for all of it.'

'But what we were there for…' Elrohir began.

'I think if we make it plain that there is a very small faction which is prepared to stop at nothing to interfere with the signing of the treaty, and that the rest of the fiefdom is eager for the union, then the rest of the tale can be told without fear of ruining the alliance,' Erestor said. 'I am more than willing to state the case in the proper political terms so that there will be no misunderstanding.'

'While I can speak on the fiefdom's strategic value,' Glorfindel said. 'Good, now that's sorted, let's order more breakfast…'

'And what will we speak of?' Elladan asked. 'The friendliness of the locals?'

'I think you two should speak to your sister, and keep out of the politics,' Glorfindel said. 'It'll make things easier for Erestor.'

'But what about for Lindir?' Elrohir asked.

'I will be fine,' Lindir said. 'Really, I will be glad when all this is done and we can go home. I am a little nervous, it's true. But the worst is over.'

By the time Glorfindel had eaten his fill and Elladan's alleged hangover had cleared, the morning was drawing on and the leisurely ride became not quite so leisurely.

They passed over the Rammas Echor and broke off for lunch and to rest the horses within the Pelennor Fields. The grass was already growing over the scars of war, the homes and cots and farmsteads slowly being rebuilt, and it was not so bad as they had feared.

Still, they were on their way again within an hour and rode into Minas Tirith to a bugled welcome late in the afternoon.

Inside the Citadel, they were escorted to the royal residence where a servant showed them to rooms where they could rest after the journey before announcing the dinner hour and promising to return to fetch them.

Lindir had been lying back on his bed trying to relax when there was a tap on his door and Glorfindel stood there.

'I've sent for some decent clothes for you – you can hardly go to dinner in the clothes Kovalia gifted you.'

'I know. Had I realised I was about to be kidnapped I would have worn older garments… is there any chance we can just eat in our rooms tonight?'

Glorfindel shook his head.

'No – we have to endure the full ceremony of a state banquet. But Erestor has a visitor and we are all invited... well, I say 'we', but Elladan and Elrohir have found their sister in the gardens and will not be joining us.'

'It's probably a good thing – their hearts are pure, but their mouths sometimes don't find the right words.'

'Come on. Get your boots back on.'

It was no surprise, really, to see who Erestor's visitor was - a long-limbed conglomerate of untidy limbs, indeterminate hair and friendly grey-blue eyes. He smiled from where he sprawled on a delicate, elegant chair in the corner of the room.

'Greetings, Lindir,' he said.

'Your majesty.' Lindir bowed. 'I trust we find you well?'

'Lindir, I leave all the majesty behind once I set the crown aside; I'm just Aragorn at present.'

'Then, Aragorn, how are you?'

'Very well.' He waved a beer bottle in Lindir's direction, the refreshments having arrived also. 'Especially as they only serve wine to the king – whichever of you asked for beer, thank you!'

'I think it was Elrohir,' Glorfindel said, taking a seat and nudging Lindir to sit, also.

'So, tell me… how was the journey? What did you think of the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds?'

'The journey from Imladris is very long,' Erestor began. 'From the fiefdom to here was not so bad. The people generally are kind and hospitable. Those living in the villages around the mountain passes are curious and friendly. General opinion is that a treaty with Gondor would be greatly to their advantage, and their head of state is widely revered and respected…'

'I had a message to say that they had voted to press ahead with the treaty. It now rests with Gondor whether to accept their offer or not.'

'I would very strongly suggest you accept,' Erestor said. 'Not only is it what the populace wish, but it would only benefit the country.'

'And Gondor,' Glorfindel said. 'Strategically, the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds is of great importance. And, if Gondor accepts them, there are several adjacent fiefdoms which will follow suit and strengthen Gondor's influence in the south.'

'There is opposition, though?'

'A small group only. Briot, the brother of the head of state has been stirring trouble. He is eager to prevent the treaty, himself favouring a union with the southern states… he and his supporters, the Briotani, are not liked and are generally feared.'

'What happened while you were there?' Aragorn asked.

'We stayed with a local family, absorbing the atmosphere and were treated well. There is a huge language problem – very few have Westron, never mind Sindarin…'

'An interesting problem, indeed. Did my brethren-in-law stir up any trouble, at all?'

'None, surprisingly. It may be they are finally realising how old they actually are…'

'I think you have never been so far from home before, Lindir. How did you feel about the trip?'

'It was… interesting. Lord Elrond thought it would do me good to experience new cultures. I have learned much.'

'Go on?'

There was too much idle curiosity to Aragorn's voice for them not to note it.

'I had the inspiration for a new song,' Lindir offered. 'And I fell in love with a lady whom I know only as 'Kovalia', though I understand that is the name of a local fruit.'

'Hmm.' Aragorn nodded to himself and his eyes grew cautious. 'So… nobody was taken away and raped, then?'

Silence fell on the room like an avalanche.

'I beg your pardon?' Erestor managed finally, his voice a hissed whisper.

'Why would you…?' Glorfindel began.

'Two messengers came from the fiefdom. One said the vote had been taken and that they wished to come under the guidance of the High King… it was properly written, in their own tongue, granted, and accompanied by a fair translation in Westron and it was brought by a polite and self-effacing courier who had enough Westron himself for courtesy.'

Aragorn looked at his three friends from Rivendell. Glorfindel looked outraged, Erestor worried, and Lindir had turned his head away to stare at the window.

'The second messenger arrived a half day later… I would have thrown him in the dungeons as soon as look at him, in fact I have him under house arrest, although he thinks he is but a guest here. The letter he bore was a warning, that there were those in the country who hate and despise elvenkind and that any who cross the borders will meet an unpleasant fate. It went on to say that one such traveller had been taken and raped and that such was likely to happen to any, that Gondor would do better to have nothing to do with such a country. Now, I cannot see how this message fits with what you tell me of the place…'

Aragorn paused to look at the elven faces surrounding him, not sure why the mood of the room had unexpectedly darkened.

'So, why are you now so silent, my friends?'

'To hear you use the word 'rape' is shocking. We have never spoken of it so bluntly. It is too harsh, too real a word…' Lindir said softly. 'My friends have heard me talk of my ordeal, the attack, the abuse… but we have never spoken of it in such terms. Not even in my mind, have I used that word to describe what happened.'

'Lindir…? Not you?' Aragorn said in the softest of voices. 'I did not realise… I thought the second missive was an attempt to stall the treaty agreement, simply done to attempt to dissuade me. Had I for a moment thought there to be any truth to it…'

'Well, there was truth to it!' Glorfindel said, his voice angry and pained. 'And Lindir, who has been through so much, is now reminded…'

'Peace, mellon-nin,' Lindir said. 'Aragorn, I will tell you all – but… my friends, not again to you. I cannot bear to see your faces change, not again…'

He made to get to his feet, but Erestor shook his head.

'Stay here. I will sit with Glorfindel for a while in his room.'

Glorfindel's chamber was only next door, and he growled and paced like a desert lion about the room, listening in to the sounds of the voices; Aragorn's now gentle and soft, the healer in him coming out, Lindir's reduced to a monotone, at times falling silent for too long.

'Glorfindel, sit,' Erestor suggested. 'You're wearing out the nice rug.'

'Is he all right, do you think? How could Aragorn say such a thing…?'

'Glorfindel…'

'This will set him back, see if it does not, see if we do not wake to his distress tonight…'

'Glorfindel, hush! You are not helping!' Erestor sighed. 'Aragorn is probably the best person Lindir could speak to right now. You have done much to help him – I would hope we have all contributed to his recovery – but we have heard the tale and to recount it, to an understanding listener, a healer, can only help!'

'Well… but I'm worried.'

'I know. So am I. But at least we do not need to hide it, now. I feared the truth coming out, but perhaps it is well that it has.'

Some time later, a very gentle tapping on the door revealed Lindir on the other side of it, Aragorn with him.

'Your room is free again, Erestor,' Lindir said.

'Are you well, mellon-nin?' Erestor said, opening the door wider.

'Better, thank you. Aragorn always was a good listener.' Lindir smiled. 'I feel calmer than I have for days. I'll go to my own room, I think, and rest.'

'I'll need to seek my chambers soon myself,' Aragorn said. 'But I think there's some beer left…?'

'Good idea,' Glorfindel said. 'Erestor? Are you coming?'

'Since it is my own chamber, of course I am…'

Lindir retreated to his own room with relief. In truth, he did feel better for talking to Aragorn, to be allowed to recount the tale without fear and at a small distance away from events. The man's gentle, targeted questioning had helped him reassess what had happened and he began to feel he would be able to set the whole thing behind him.

The promised clothes had been delivered, and once he had bathed and changed into robes more like to those he had been used to wearing in Rivendell, he began to feel far more hopeful for the future.

His mood lifting through the banquet, he found himself enjoying the company, for once, and after the queen had risen and all had followed her through to the state sitting rooms for conversation and music, he allowed himself to be persuaded into playing for Arwen the melody he'd been working on for Kovalia's song.

It was a joy to have a harp to work with, and although the melody had only existed in his head and written down, so long had he been playing that the tune and the harmonies flowed easily from his mind to his hands and into music and when he finished, he found a little group of admirers around.

'That was lovely, Lindir!' Arwen exclaimed. 'And are there words for this love song? For it surely is a love song, is it not?'

'Indeed it is. At the moments, they are thoughts and ideas, half-phrases and glimpses of vision, but it will come.'

It would come.

He fell asleep toying with words and spent the night in easy, restful reverie.

Morning brought Elrohir to his door, tapping cheerfully and announcing breakfast downstairs in ten minutes.

'I am already up and dressed,' Lindir said, opening the door. 'Working on the words for Kovalia's song, in truth.'

'Good, because Arwen wants to hear all about your mysterious beloved…'

'Well, I am not sure it is fit for her hearing…'

Elrohir laughed and fell into step beside his friend. Glorfindel and Erestor, having had Elladan knock on their doors, joined them at the head of the stairs so that they went down in a little cluster to the room where Arwen had arranged to take breakfast with them.

It was good to see Elladan and Elrohir with their sister, laughing and teasing and generally glad to be together again, Lindir thought, enjoying the humour of the hour. Marriage seemed to suit Arwen; although delighted to see her brothers, she did not seem to have missed them or to be at all homesick.

'For if home is where the heart is, than I am always going to be here with my Elessar,' she said. 'When you find that one person that you belong with, nothing else matters. What do you say, Lindir? Your music last night suggested you have found your one person, too?'

'Ai, my lady! It is not quite so simple… I doubt we will meet again.'

'But that would be too sad, Lindir – you must try. Promise me, you will try?'

'You know, you did say you would write from Gondor,' Erestor said. 'And while I have the leisure, I would be happy to translate for you.'

'Yes, indeed; the messengers from the fiefdom are still here; I am sure one would carry back a letter for you.'

'Then we should get on; Lindir?' Erestor tipped his head encouragingly. 'Would you like to begin this morning?'

'You can use the library,' Arwen said, eager to help the cause of True Love. 'It is just through here…'

She led them through to one of the lesser corridors – 'a short cut, so many miles of passages in this place!' - and out again into another. They passed a little open area, a crossing of ways made into something more, and was turning down towards the library when a loud voice from behind in an uncouth, rough tongue assailed their ears. It was answered by a servant in Westron, the tone placating.

'Come, turn away,' Erestor said, recognising the sounds as the dialect of the fiefdom. 'We do not want to be recognised in case this messenger is one of the Briotani…'

But they had turned, instead, towards the voice automatically, looking at the source of the disturbance even as the arguer was bustled back inside the room.

Lindir stared. He knew the man, remembered the voice, the touch of the thick fingers in his hair, the memory of the fear and the despair he had felt in the back of the cart as he began to realise what might be in store for him…

Glorfindel lost interest in the argument the moment he saw the colour drain from Lindir's face, saw him stagger and turn to push through behind his friends, to fall against the wall as if trying to hide.

'What is the matter?' Arwen exclaimed.

'The library?' Glorfindel suggested.

She hurried past and opened a door.

'Here.'

'Thank you, my lady,' Erestor said. 'Please – leave this to us, but have Aragorn sent for.'

Glorfindel reached Lindir and was speaking softly to him, leading him to a seat in the library, Lindir clinging and shaking all the way.

'Elladan, Elrohir, help me seek my husband,' Arwen said, hurrying off and leaving Erestor watching the door and Glorfindel trying to help his friend.

Lindir hid behind his hands, trying to calm himself. All it once it had come back; the fear, the helplessness, the dread…

'What is it, Lindir?' Glorfindel asked. 'Did you see that man before?'

Lindir trembled, his shoulders shuddering, but could find no answer.

'I have seen him before Glorfindel,' Erestor said. 'I think so. I knew the voice, certainly; one of the lesser Briotani, one of those who kidnapped us.'

'I see. That is, I think I see… Lindir, mellon-nin, you are safe here. Erestor guards the door, I am at your side. None can harm you. Come, try to tell us…?'

Lindir shook his head.

'Very well. Just try to feel better…' Glorfindel patted Lindir's shoulder. 'Believe me, you are safe.'

Presently, Erestor spoke.

'Aragorn is on his way,' he said. 'He looks as he used to when we knew him in Rivendell, a deranged Ranger on a mission…'

'What is it, what has happened?' Aragorn hurried into the library. 'Arwen said Lindir has been taken ill?'

'Not ill, as such… the man in the corridor – I take it he was the other messenger from the fiefdom?' Erestor said, closing the library door.

'Yes, what of him…? It was not he who…?'

'I recognised him as one involved in the kidnap,' Erestor said. 'But more than that, I cannot say…'

'He… I woke in the back of the wagon, in the dark…'

Lindir had dropped his hands away from his face but couldn't look up as he continued.

'…and he was there, his hands… his fingers in my hair, his hands were dirty, I felt… it was then I knew fear…'

'Ai, Lindir…!' Glorfindel muttered. 'I did not know of this…'

'Well, compared to the other, it seemed nothing, not worth mentioning… but this one… when they carried me in, his hands were… the others stopped him… Will I never be done with this, Glorfindel?' he gasped out. 'Will it never be over?'

'Peace, Lindir… it is but a set-back. You will be well of it. In some cases, the fear of what might be is worse than the abuse… and you have not talked of this, it has been a burden to you, and you did not know it. But it is out now, you will be able to purge yourself of this memory, too.'

'He was involved in the kidnap?' Aragorn asked.

'Yes,' Erestor said shortly. What part of this did Aragorn not understand?

'And he molested our friend?'

'Again, yes. Were we unclear?'

'No, I needed to be certain, that is all. He will not be returning to his own country in the near future. In fact, I shall arrange to have him removed to the dungeons immediately.'

He crossed the room and crouched down in front of Lindir, looking up at him with sympathy. 'My friend, I am sorry you had to see him again, and under my roof. I would not have had it happen for the world… if I may be of any use to you, any service at all…'

'I think we would like to take Lindir back to his room,' Glorfindel said.

'I'll walk with you. Come, we can go another way, we need not be near that corridor. Erestor, do you wish to check the way is clear? We will go to the left…'

With Aragorn leading, Erestor taking charge of Lindir and Glorfindel following, they made their way through the intricacies of the building to come to the elves' quarters again.

'Here you are, safe once more. I will look in on you later.' Aragorn laid a reassuring hand on Lindir's shoulder. 'Rest, my friend. And remember; if you need me, I will come.'


	14. Chapter 14: Briotanus

'I do not understand you!' Aragorn pushed his hands through his already untidy hair and stared at Erestor. 'After all this, you would still have me support a country where such abhorrent behaviour takes place? Bring it under Gondor's governance? You appal me!'

He paused, and for a moment Erestor dared hope the tirade was over, but no; Aragorn was but taking a breath.

'I have always known elves understand things differently, sometimes, but so differently? Do you not see how badly harmed Lindir has been?'

'Of course we see it,' Erestor said, trying to calm the king by keeping his own voice soft when, really, he would have liked, just for once, to raise his voice. 'We rescued him. We have all heard his screams in the night and tried to comfort him, we know how shattered he has been by these events. But…'

'Be very careful how you qualify that remark, Erestor…'

'I was about to say – but have you asked Lindir what he wants?'

'He does not know what he is saying; he is distressed…'

The library door opened to admit Glorfindel.

'You sound quite distressed yourself, Estel,' Glorfindel said, closing the door behind him.

Aragorn waved irritably at use of his childhood name.

'How is he?'

'The worst of the horror of the memories is passing. He wishes now to be simply left alone for a while.' Glorfindel shrugged. 'Elrohir is in the room next door, listening out for him.'

'Good. And what do you have to say about this?'

'In what sense?' Glorfindel asked with care. 'I hate to see our friend suffer. What is worse is that he thought he was leaving his tormentors behind, and instead…'

'The man is already in my dungeons… I do not know how long I can keep him there, but…'

'You are the High King. Until he rots, why not?'

'Glorfindel!' Erestor protested. 'Aragorn, I can swear to it that this man was one of those who kidnapped me. I knew his voice. That should give you cause enough to hold him, at least until the treaty is signed…'

'I am not certain there will be a treaty…'

'Then everything Lindir has endured is for nothing and you condemn him to an eternity of torment, knowing that those who sought to prevent the treaty have won. You negate his sacrifice of pain.'

'Erestor…' Glorfindel took a seat. 'It's adding fuel to the fire, I know. But he needs to know all of it. Just in case the prisoner starts telling all the stories.'

'What's this?' Aragorn asked.

Erestor shook his head.

'Lindir and I were not the intended targets. Briot wanted the twins.'

'What?'

'One for him and one to entrap his sister with. You know about his sister? She is a much-loved and valued leader and Briot was trying to implicate her in this. He even had her wine drugged as he did ours. At the very least, it was a ploy to distract her, to keep her from the council and to have her discovered with a captive in her rooms. Of course he knew we would protest, and he knows your close ties to elvenkind. This, or something like it, is exactly what he has planned for, Aragorn.'

Erestor paused to gather his thoughts.

'Briot and his small cadre of followers are desperate to prevent the treaty. Everyone else, from their Lady who Leads right down to the humblest smallholder, are good and kindly souls. Did Lindir not tell you about Kovalia?'

'No,' Aragorn admitted. 'Except the music he was playing last evening…'

'Kovalia saved him,' Erestor said simply. 'She fed him, gave him salve for where his bonds had cut into him, found him a knife and clothes and stopped him from feeling he was utterly ruined.'

'Even so…'

'He's in love with her,' Glorfindel said. 'So if you refuse the treaty, you're also condemning this human woman who was as kind to him as the others were cruel.'

'So who is she? Can we seek her out?'

'We only know her as 'Kovalia', which we know now is the name of a kind of fruit… a misunderstanding, the language is truly abominable… but there is evidence to suggest she is their Lady who Leads.'

'Really? And Lindir…?' Aragorn shook his head. 'Very well. For Lindir's sake I will not decline the treaty. But I will question this Kovalia, if I ever find her, and learn her version of the tale. As for the villain in my dungeons, Erestor, if you would accuse him, then you must face him. Do you feel able to do so?'

'Of course. He only kidnapped me. But that is enough of a wrong in itself. Shall we go now?'

'Lindir?' Glorfindel knocked on his friend's door. 'May I speak with you?'

'A moment.'

He waited considerably more than a moment, hearing the sound as of something heavy being dragged across the floor before the noise of the key in the lock came and the door opened to him. As he finally entered, he saw a coffer in the middle of the floor, and realised Lindir had used it to block the doorway.

'Ai, Lindir…! Tell me, how do you feel now?'

'I wish to leave, Glorfindel. How soon can we be on our way?'

'We could leave within the hour, mellon-nin, if you feel it necessary.'

'How can I stay in the same place where… where he is?' Lindir demanded, dropping onto the coffer and hiding his face with his hands. 'Please, can we go?'

'The man is under lock and guard in the dungeons; Aragorn will not let him free. You are safe, Lindir, safe…'

'I am, now that you are here. Will you lock and block the door for me while I wash? I need to wash my hair.'

'Your hair is already wet, Lindir. Have you not already washed it?'

'Again, though, I have to… you don't understand.'

'This is me you're talking to. On the contrary, I understand far too well…' Glorfindel sighed and turned the key in the lock. 'Go and wash, my friend. And remember this as you do – it is a long ride home, and where will you be able to then?'

There was a small and stark guard room at the end of the corridor which housed the cells and Aragorn instructed the gaolers to bring the Briotanus there.

'Lord Erestor and I have a reason for speaking with him personally,' Aragorn said. 'Bring him and wait outside.'

The man was fetched, his hands bound behind him, and he was dropped onto his knees on the ground in front of Aragorn. Erestor stood in the shadows of the door, for the moment an unobserved observer.

The Briotanus began by staring defiance at Aragorn, but as he kept glaring at the steady grey eyes and the steadfast expression, some of his bravado began to crumble and presently he began to bluster.

'A fine thing for so great a king, to throw a messenger into the dungeons! And what have I done to you, great king of the west, to deserve such treatment?'

The man made to rise, but Aragorn lifted a finger in a gesture of warning and the Briotanus stayed on his knees.

'We know you have lied and misrepresented yourself. We know you do not serve the Lady who Leads…'

'I serve her brother, Briot, who is of our leading family…! You cannot throw me in prison for serving them…'

'But you claimed to be other than you are.' Aragorn turned his head. 'Have you seen enough? Are you sure?'

'Quite sure.' Erestor stepped forward. 'This is one of the men who drugged and kidnapped me. I remember his voice and his bearing. I was forcibly restrained and then carried some distance and abandoned, still bound. I was not treated with kindness, your majesty.'

He paused to wrinkle his nose.

'And I recognise his smell, also. It is quite distinctive.'

The man began to growl but Aragorn raised his hand to silence him.

'If you have anything to say, now is the time to say it, clearly and in words we can understand. If you do not have enough Westron, I have sufficient of your own language to understand any lack.'

'It was an accident. A mistake…' The man tried to shrug, tried to rewrite his story. 'We had no intention of taking the lord here; we were after the others and Farle brought the wrong ones… naturally, I released him as soon as I knew what had happened… the lord himself just said, O King, that we let him go unharmed…'

'I heard the words 'abandoned, still bound.' I also heard you say 'the wrong ones' and so must ask what happened to the others?'

'Others? Others? King, there were no others…'

'I would advise you to think carefully. You are already in grave danger and risk compounding your many offences…'

'One. One other. I… I do not know what happened to him. He was taken to the palace. I didn't see him after that.'

'And…?'

The man shook his head.

'It is not important in context, I suppose,' Aragorn said. 'You were right, Erestor; he has already crimes enough against him to keep him here for years…'

'Years! I protest! I am innocent!'

'Plainly, you are not.'

'My Lord will notice I am missing. He… he sent me, he will know when I have not returned that I have been…'

'What? Kidnapped?' Aragorn said.

'Your majesty,' Erestor put in. 'We were a few days from the palace when we were stranded by one of the desert storms that blew in. When these come, nothing moves. Nothing can. Men and horses can be swallowed up in an instant; we heard many stories about entire trade trains being lost in storms, dozens of men and mules never heard from again. Briot will not note the loss of one man and think it anything other than a storm-death. None will seek him.'

Aragorn raised his voice.

'Guards! Take him back to the cells. He is going to be with us for some time.'


	15. Chapter 15: Arwen, Helping

'To: The Palace Building, Main Town, Fiefdom of the Desert Winds.

'For: The Lady who Leads

'From: Lord Erestor, Chief Advisor to Lord Elrond, Master of Rivendell, greetings.

'Lady,

'Being recently in your fiefdom in company with some companions, I wish to commend the kindness and hospitality of the good Master Torre and his wife Carli who sheltered us while we sought for one of our friends who had gone missing.

'We discovered our unfortunate friend had fallen in amongst bad company, but then had found himself in the care of a Lady who treated him with great kindness and gentleness and respect.

'Our friend – who is named Lindir - wishes to make known his sincere gratitude to the Lady, who he knows only as 'Kovalia'. Our friend is still suffering some of the effects of his treatment, but the kindness of this Lady has done much to hasten his recovery.

'If you are able to find her out, please tell Kovalia that Lindir holds her in his heart with great esteem and thankfulness.

'With respectful duty,

'I remain,

'Your well-wisher and would-be ally,

'Erestor of Rivendell.'

Erestor sanded the ink and folded the parchment before dripping wax from the taper onto the edge and pressing his seal to it.

He sighed to himself, and reached for the bell pull to summon the servant.

'My lord?'

'I have a letter to be conveyed to the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds. It must go as soon as possible, by the safest means.'

'It will be done, my lord.'

'Good. It is important, do not let it lie.'

The servant bowed and took the letter and left the room.

Was it the right thing to do? He didn't know. All he knew was that Lindir had lost all courage, all interest in writing to Kovalia himself, and that the further away from the fiefdom they got, the harder it would be to ensure a message got there. He did not want to reach Imladris and to find Lindir was harbouring secret regrets…

'Erestor? Are you there?' Glorfindel looked into the room. 'We were worried; no-one has seen you since you confronted that man of Briot's… Are you well?'

'I am well. I am annoyed and tired and wish to be home again, but I am well. How is Lindir?'

'Washing his hair for the third time to my knowledge… Elladan is with him, and Elrohir outside his door. And Lindir wishes to be home again, also.'

'I cannot help but feel for him.'

'He wants to leave as soon as possible… it is only fear of the lack of hot water on the return journey holds him back, I feel…'

Erestor's mouth moved in the smallest of smiles.

'I know you jest to lighten the mood and not to mock, mellon-nin… but what can we do? How can we leave when we have barely arrived?'

'You and the twins stay. I'll ride with Lindir home. Or at least to Ithilien; he'll feel safer there, amongst the wood elves' colony.'

'Let me put the matter to Aragorn; I fear Lindir is not really strong enough to ride out again so soon, not after this distress.'

'Very well, Erestor. What's being done about that villain in the dungeons?'

'Aragorn has taken my sworn statement and the man condemned himself with his own words. While claiming only to have been following orders, of course, he admitted his part in events… and inadvertently cleared the Lady who Leads of any complicity by doing so. He will not see the outside of the cell until after the treaty has gone through, certainly.'

'Good. I'll pass that on to our friend.'

Glorfindel trailed his way through the building to Lindir's room. In the corridor, leaning against the walls and talking together in low voices, Elladan and Elrohir straightened up and wandered down to intercept him.

'What's going on? Lindir?'

'Our sister is with him,' Elrohir said with a bemused smile. 'She told us to stand aside and not be silly about it, would you believe?'

'It seems Aragorn had tried to shield her from what had happened, but she now knows all – or thinks she knows all,' Elladan added, 'and has appointed herself Lindir's newest confidant.'

'Well, it must be said that the pair of you have been very silly in your time, and I am sure Arwen has seen more of it than I have… Come on, sit with me in my room until they're done, why not?'

Leaving the door open so he could see if Arwen came out, Glorfindel waved the twins to sit, talking idly to pass the time.

'What's this?' Glorfindel asked presently, seeing a procession of servants bearing boxes approaching Lindir's room and knocking. 'What's she doing in there?'

Leaning out of the room, he watched as Arwen took delivery of the boxes and dismissed the servants.

'Arwen?' he asked, unable to contain his curiosity. 'What's going on?'

'Hats,' she told him with a smile. 'Just hats.'

Arwen shut the door and smiled reassuringly at Lindir. Over the course of the preceding hour she'd had the full tale of the kidnap and subsequent events, and had not known whether she was more distressed at what Lindir had endured or annoyed that Aragorn had deliberately kept the facts from her.

'I cannot remain here!' Lindir had kept repeating. 'I am truly very sorry, my lady, but I do not feel clean while I am in the same house…'

'Well, that is easily settled,' she had told him. 'The house which was set aside for the use of the Fellowship is currently held in readiness, should any of our friends wish to come to visit. I am sure you and Glorfindel and Erestor could stay there, if that is better for you.'

'Thank you, my lady. You are very kind.'

'No – I am only sorry that you have been so distressed. But the man is locked away and my brothers are outside on guard. There is no risk that he will come near you. Now, what else may I do to help?'

'I… I wish to wash my hair again…'

'Again, Lindir? It is not good, you know, to wash it too often.'

'But it ceases to feel clean so swiftly. I need to know…'

And that was when she had the idea.

'Very well. You wash your hair, and I will send out for something to make sure your hair stays clean. You will trust me, I hope? You will let me help?'

'Thank you, my lady.'

And so the servant had been summoned, and sent away with clear and decisive instructions, and presently Glorfindel had been treated to the sight of six servants bearing hatboxes all arriving at Lindir's door.

Arwen took delivery with a smile and closed the door before going to the table where the boxes had been set, peeking inside.

'Oh these are wonderful!' she said. 'And new, Lindir. Everything here is new and fresh and clean. Now, follow me.'

'But why?' he asked, doing as he was bid and trailing after her into the washroom where Arwen had rolled up her sleeves and was scrubbing fiercely at her hands.

'So that you can see my hands are absolutely clean, of course! See?'

'Yes…'

'Are my hands clean?'

'Yes, my lady…'

'Are they clean enough, Lindir?'

'Your hands are really very clean…'

'I'm glad you agree. Now, back in the other room and sit you down in front of the looking glass…'

'I do not understand…'

'You will. Now, you can see us both?'

'I can, my lady…'

'Oh, please stop 'my ladying' me. Arwen is fine, we are friends and not in high company.' She held his reflected gaze. 'My dear friend, you must know you cannot keep on washing your hair all the time; it is not good for you hair, or for your fëa…'

'But, Arwen, it feels tainted…'

'Does it now?'

'No; at the moment, it feels clean.'

'And my hands are clean?'

'Yes.'

'So, I will place my clean hands on your clean hair and it will remain clean. Then I will braid you, as your Naneth might have done, and so replace the memory of the touch that so troubled you.'

'I do not see how.'

'Well, let me try. You see, I think not many have touched your hair, and if you can remember a pleasant touch, it may help. Your Naneth must have, but is there any from… from after the time of your distress?'

'Kovalia,' he whispered. 'I am sure she… I flinched from her fist touch, but later…'

'Then think of Kovalia, or your Naneth, as I braid you. That is, I wish you will allow me to braid you?'

'Yes… I think I can.'

In the mirror, the reflection of Arwen placed gentle hands on the reflection or Lindir's head. She watched an expression of fear pass across his face, saw him tense.

'Mellon-nin, I will stop whenever you ask me to. But I think this will help, if you can bear it.'

'Continue, please.'

She gathered his hair with brisk, business-like fingers, so that it did indeed feel like his mother's long-missed hands, taking him back…

'What is it, Lindir?' Arwen asked, seeing him slowly begin to relax. 'What are you thinking?'

'I was an elfling. Naneth would get my younger brother ready first, while my sisters were braiding each other. Always, Naneth was silent as she worked our hair – if she spoke, it was to say, do not fidget, it will pull… so the silence was good and gentle. Her fingers as deft as yours, and she would finish swiftly and then speak to say, 'there. So patient, today.' She would press her hands to my shoulders and smile… so long ago, so long since they all sailed…'

'Well, I think you have been very patient today, also. You are done.'

She had gathered all his hair up to the crown of his head and then made one thick central plait which fell down to his neck and pulled his face smooth, changing his expression. Arwen hoped it would change his mood, also.

'How do you feel now?'

'It was… alarming, but thinking of my family… it was not so bad.'

'I'm pleased to hear it. Now come, look at these.' She crossed to the boxes and removed the lids. Lindir stared at the contents, bemused.

'Hats, Arwen?'

'Your hair is clean, braided by clean hands. The hats are clean. Wearing one of these will protect your hair – both from becoming tainted again, and from any accidental touch.'

'I understand, now. Thank you. I will look.'

He had never worn a hat. He had covered his head with a hood, in rain or snow, but that was all. There had been no need.

Now, Lindir selected a dark green hat, velvet, with a bronze trim. It was a loose thing, with a flat crown and a soft brim, and Arwen helped him, showing him how he could tuck the braid inside the crown and entirely cover his hair.

His reflection looked strange, transformed, his eyes appearing huge now all his hair was hidden, the hat altering his appearance so much that he doubted even his Naneth would recognise him… but it felt as if a weight was beginning to lift from him, at last.

He turned to Arwen with what might have been a smile.

'My lady, I do not know how to thank you! This – this helps so much…'

Arwen smiled so hard that she dimpled.

'I am truly glad to hear it. Now, somewhere there will be cloaks to match the colour of the hats, for that is the way of the people here. I will have the cloaks fetched. And may I bring in my brothers?'

'Yes, of course…'

'You see, if they wear hats too, you will feel less conspicuous…'

Arwen opened the door and called, and soon her brothers – and Glorfindel – had joined them in Lindir's room which started to feel a little cramped.

'So, it is all settled, you will stay at the House of the Fellowship and it will be prepared for you by tonight, Glorfindel. You can go across after dinner. My brothers will stay here, but Erestor may wish to go with you… and here are hats for you all, will one of you tell Erestor to come?'

'Arwen!' Elladan protested. 'Hats! I do not wear hats! I wear helms or hoods, but I do not – elves do not…'

'You do now, Elladan!' Arwen said briskly. 'Pick a hat. You, too, Elrohir… do not grumble!' she added, and Lindir found himself smiling at her tone.

'There are none here suitable… Lindir has got the best…'

'Well, never mind. I will make you one if you do not find one there you like…'

'Make one…?' Elrohir echoed.

'Or have you forgotten that some time ago I discovered a certain talent for crochet work? You choose, one of these… or one of my own making. I think I may even have some bells left, somewhere…'

'I think this burgundy one would look quite well,' Elrohir said hastily.

'I like the dark brown one,' Elladan said, snatching a hat quickly from its box.

Glorfindel grinned and sauntered past the remaining boxes.

'I see a dark blue which Erestor might like – or he could have the black one. But this is the one for me. I already have a tunic in this shade.'

He lifted out a mid-blue hat, of similar style to Lindir's, but he put it on and tilted the crown and wore it with a swagger and his golden hair showing beneath it.

'It is my colour, after all. You know, we may just start a fashion.'

Elladan looked glumly at his own behatted reflection.

I doubt it,' he said.


	16. Chapter 16: Bad Dreams in the Night

Lindir 16 Bad Dreams in the Night

The House of the Fellowship, as it had become known throughout the city, was a tall and elegant house on five levels. It had six bedrooms, two to each of the top three floors, two of which had balconies and a further two which were built into the rock of the mountain behind.

There was a basement kitchen, and two sitting rooms on the floor above, a staircase between and the bedrooms arranged off these stairs on the various levels.

'If I might have the balcony room on the first floor,' Erestor said after they had been shown around and the servant had gone, 'then perhaps you and Lindir would like the floor above, Glorfindel? The doors to the rooms open opposite each other.'

'Well, why didn't you say so before we sat down in the parlour?' Glorfindel grumbled. 'Let's have another look, then!'

'Those very old bones of yours feeling the stairs, mellon-nin?' Erestor asked.

Elladan and Elrohir, who had come along to take a look at the house, laughed, and even Lindir smiled.

'Yes. I fear I am not as young as I used to be…'

After examining the second-floor bedrooms, Elrohir led an expedition up to the top floor.

'The view is far finer from here, Glorfindel!' he called down. 'One of the rooms has a balcony, and its door opens opposite the rock-backed room…'

Glorfindel stayed on the landing beneath.

'But there is no bathroom on the top floor,' he objected. 'And as well as old bones, I have an ancient bladder, also…'

Lindir eased past him and made his way up to join Elrohir.

'The view is indeed very fine,' he called down. 'I am sure I can see all the way to Osgiliath!'

Grumbling, Glorfindel hauled his ancient bones up to the top floor.

'Yes, it is a view, and very fine. But I happen to know what Osgiliath looks like, and the view is almost as good from the floor beneath…'

'There is no balcony on the floor beneath.'

'Did you want a balcony, Lindir?'

'No, indeed; I thought I would like one of the rooms at the back of the house, where the rock can be seen arcing over…'

'Well, and I do not want a balcony either.' Glorfindel began to make his way down to the sitting room, the others following. 'So that is settled, then; we on the second floor, Erestor on the first, and if these noisome twins decide they cannot bear their sister's company, they can take the top level.'

'No, she wants us back tonight,' Elrohir said. 'But we'll come to see you, bright and early.'

'You two? Up early when you don't have to be?' Glorfindel raised an eyebrow in disbelief. 'That will be the day!'

'Ah, but we do have to be,' Elladan complained. 'She has said we must go riding with her. Before breakfast.'

'Then you had better be off,' Glorfindel said. 'And a good night to you both!'

The twins exchanged farewells with Erestor and Lindir and wandered off towards the palace. Before they had gone more than a few paces, Elladan reached up to snatch the hat of his brother's head, and Elrohir protested and returned the favour.

Once the twins were out of sight, Erestor made a point of fastening and locking the door, shooting home the bolts top and bottom before coming to take a seat by the fire and remove his own hat with rather more care than he had seen the twins use. He saw Lindir watching, saw the minstrel's throat constrict and he realised Lindir was reluctant to remove his own headgear.

He decided it was better not to comment.

'It has been a strange day,' he said. 'If either of you wish to retire, I think I will sit by the fire for a little while.'

'No, I'll haul my old frame and my saddlebags up to my room, I think,' Glorfindel said. 'My ancient bones have a sore need to be horizontal.'

'I'll say goodnight also, Erestor,' Lindir said. 'I will make sure Glorfindel's old bones do not give out as he is climbing the stairs…'

'Ha! I think I have the strength to claw my way up two flights of stairs… although if you had not compelled me to visit the top level for the sake of the view…'

He kept up his grumbling banter until they gained the landing outside their rooms. A lantern burned outside the washroom, and more lanterns illuminated the bedrooms.

'No getting up in the night and trying to wash your hair in cold water in the dark, Lindir, do you hear me? You might hurt yourself. Or wake me up, which would be worse.'

Lindir tried not to let his smile look sad.

'My hair still feels clean,' he said. 'I will not.'

Glorfindel left his door wide open.

'I can't see you from my bed, but you know I'm here. You know I'll hear if you need anything.'

'I know. Thank you, Glorfindel. I will be fine. Good night.'

Alone in his room, Lindir unpacked his saddlebags and changed into sleepwear, taking care not to remove his hat. Perhaps it was silly to even consider sleeping in it, but while his hair was covered he could believe it would stay clean through the night.

The bed was comfortable, the sheets cool and crisp and the wall of the mountain rose behind him, as solid and as reassuring as Glorfindel's presence, and he lay on his side facing the door and slipped into reverie easily and unafraid.

The screams shredded the night, tore through the house. They went on and on, pausing only as the afflicted one took breath.

Erestor was already out of bed and reaching for his sword before he properly dropped out of reverie. His heart was racketing in his breast and he was trembling with dread even as the screams faltered, stopped.

It took him a few moments before his breathing slowed and calmed, before his nerves began to settle. By now he could hear voices from the floor above, and while there had been something so dreadful, so primal in the screams that he wanted to go and see for himself that Lindir was safe, he decided that the morning would be time enough to enquire after the minstrel.

Lindir started out of reverie with a gasp. He had been in reverie… it had turned into a dream, a dream in which his abuser had not been Briot, but a man with dirty fingers… Thank the Valar he had woken before it reached the point where he usually woke screaming…

Screaming. Was that what he sounded like?

The sound battered at him, broke his heart, ripped piteously into his fëa.

'Glorfindel!'

He jumped out of bed and hurried across the landing into the seneschal's room. His friend was still deep in reverie, his eyes glazed, his head raised, the tendons on his neck standing out like cords as he screamed and yelled and drew breath to scream again.

'Glorfindel! Wake up!'

Lindir stood at the foot of the bed and pushed at the mattress. Only a fool would try to touch Glorfindel of Gondolin when he was in reverie. A fool, or someone with a death wish…

'Glorfindel!' Lindir shouted again. 'Mellon-nin, wake up!'

His words, his pushing at the mattress to shake the bed had no effect. Knowing it was probably dangerous, but also knowing he couldn't let this go on, he grabbed Glorfindel's arm with both his hands.

'It is I, Lindir, you are safe! Safe! Wake up, my friend! Be calm!'

Glorfindel snatched his arm away, the motion and the contact bringing him abruptly into the now. He bent his head, shaking and gasping for breath so that it sounded almost as if he were sobbing.

'You're safe, Glorfindel. It was but a dream, a memory, perhaps. You are safe.'

The warrior shook his head and looked at the figure now perching on the side of the bed. An elf with frightened, brave eyes, wearing only sleeping shorts and a hat, staring at him.

It would have been ludicrous but for the terror that was only just beginning to subside.

'What happened?' he asked.

'I was having a bad dream…'

'And I didn't hear and you had to come to wake me? I am sorry…' Glorfindel stopped. 'No, that is not right… I was… I… was that noise me?'

'Are you all right? I was worried… if this is a result of helping me, of revisiting your own experiences for my sake, and if such has caused you to dream, Glorfindel, then do not help me any more… I could not bear to think it my fault…'

'Ai, it is not that, mellon-nin!' Glorfindel exhaled heavily. 'It is this place… there is something about the White City, the houses… I do not know why, but it minds me of Gondolin's fair walls… and that may be the reason, but I dreamed my death again.'

He pushed himself up in bed and swung his legs round so he was sitting on the edge of it, burying his face in his hands for a moment as he tried to still the tremors that still coursed through him.

'You have never heard me tell the tale of how I slew the Balrog, have you?'

Lindir shook his head.

'There was no need; I had heard the story all my life; as a minstrel it is one of the great tales one is expected to learn early in one's career… and by the time we had met, I felt you had, perhaps, told your story enough for comfort.'

Glorfindel snorted.

'That is one way of putting it! There are only so many times, mellon-nin, that you can recount such a thing… and it haunts me, still.' He shrugged. 'It makes a change from my other demons, I suppose. But you can see how it left me.'

The seneschal spread his arms in a gesture of display and Lindir found himself staring at the Balrog-slayer's torso. He had never noticed before, not being one to stare, but now, at Glorfindel's words, he felt compelled to look.

Glorfindel's body was a tracery of slender white scars and pink streaks and stripes. Across his back, his chest, over his shoulder and around his arms, showing up in stark contrast to the soft creamy peach of his natural skin tones.

'In their wisdom, the Valar saw fit to send me back still bearing the marks of that last day's battle. My scars are a testimony to my courage and my strength, they say.'

'And the 'they' who say these things, is it any of their business to comment?' Lindir asked.

Glorfindel found, to his surprise, that he was laughing.

'You know, it generally happens that the first time someone sees my marks of battle, they say something…?'

'I see. Well, I would not wish to disappoint you…' Lindir said, and instead of seeking a comment to show how much he recognised Glorfindel's bravery, instead spoke his honest thought. 'Did it hurt?'

Glorfindel gaped at him.

'Yes. Yes, Lindir, it did hurt. It was possibly the worst pain in the history of Middle Earth, although there are some who claim childbirth would trump it any time… and I felt the lash burning and the terrible heat and the flames everywhere, the skin sloughing off my bones…' He shrugged. 'To give the Valar their due, they did at least restore me to pretty much my former physical self. These…' He indicated the scars again. 'These are representative of the Balrog's whip. Although the other scars, the sword and knife and arrow marks, those are properly my own… Ai, I need a drink!'

'I saw a bottle of spirits downstairs. Will you be all right while I fetch it?'

'I will be fine, don't start worrying about me!'

Erestor heard Lindir's light step on the stairs and followed him down to the parlour.

'Lindir? Is anything amiss?'

'Did I disturb you? I am sorry! I had a bad dream…' Lindir picked up a decanter and glasses from the side table. 'And I am looking for the spirits…'

Erestor sighed and took the decanter from his hands.

'I know you are struggling, mellon-nin, but strong liquor is not the answer…'

'I realise that, but…'

'…you would do much better to talk about your feelings, even if it is uncomfortable for you… if you need an impartial listener, Lindir, I will offer my time gladly…'

'Thank you, Erestor. You are most kind. But…'

Footsteps on the stairs. Glorfindel had shrugged into a shirt and leggings and entered the room.

'Lindir, did you find the…? Erestor. Are we having a party?'

Erestor set the decanter down.

'Hardly. I was simply…' He paused. 'It does not matter. I am going back to bed.'

'Will you not join us in a glass?' Glorfindel asked, pouring the rich, golden spirits into two glasses, hovering over a third. 'The more you drink, the less that will be left for me, of course…'

'Then how can I refuse?' Erestor lifted an eyebrow as he took a glass and sat down in front of the embers of the fire. 'And as we are together, without the benefit of Elladan and Elrohir's dubious input, perhaps we may talk, Lindir, as your concerned friends… you must know that we wish only to help but tonight you sounded so unlike yourself…'

Glorfindel took a huge gulp of spirits.

'That's because 'twas me yelling,' he said, hunkering his shoulders down. 'It's having all this rock around me… there is stone in Imladris, I know, but it is all so very light and fine there, it is not as weighty, somehow…'

'You? Forgive me, Lindir – I beg your pardon… but you said you had a bad dream?'

'Indeed so. Glorfindel woke me from it.'

'I think I understand how…' He sipped at his glass and set it down, getting to his feet and clasping Glorfindel's shoulder in passing. 'I am sorry, mellon-nin. I had thought your own darkness behind you.'

Glorfindel shrugged and found a smile.

'It comes and it goes, mellon-nin, as is the way of such things. Goodnight.'

Lindir and Glorfindel sat in silence for a few moments, Lindir nursing his drink, Glorfindel topping up his own glass two, three times.

Finally, the golden-haired seneschal sighed.

'This will never do – the famed Balrog-slayer drinking himself to oblivion because he was scared to go to bed!'

'If you would, Glorfindel, I find… would you let me bring my bedroll into your room, and put your back against mine?'

'Really?' Glorfindel cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. 'After this you think I'm a fit person to watch your back?'

'I thought we were watching each other's backs.' Lindir set down his glass. 'I will go up.'

When Glorfindel followed two more glasses of spirits later, Lindir was wrapped in his bedroll on top of Glorfindel's bed. He shrugged, and got into bed, turning his back.

'I have survived enough bad dreams, you would think, that I should be used to them by now,' he grumbled. 'But I find… I am not. My thanks, Lindir.'

'I am glad you will let me help.' Lindir looked over his shoulder. 'And I am coming to learn, my friend, that dreams cannot hurt us, unless we let them.'

'Yes. The trick is in not letting them.'


	17. Chapter 17: Progress

Lindir had parted company with his hat during the night.

He reached for it and sat up, shaking it out and was about to put it back on when he paused. No, he didn't need it now. Not in the house.

There was no visible sign of Glorfindel in the room, but his voice could be heard from downstairs, alternating with Erestor's, the tone simply conversational, so Lindir slipped back to his own room to dress.

He glanced at the door to the washroom as he passed. He could wash his hair before he went down to breakfast.

If he wanted. No, not wanted… if he needed to.

But no, he didn't want to… or need to…

Not here, in this house.

He dressed, left his hat in the bedroom, and went down to join his friends.

Glorfindel glanced up and waved an easy hand at him, but there was a note of tension to the gesture Lindir couldn't help but notice.

'Is that how Arwen braided you?' the seneschal asked with a shake of the head. 'I can't say I like it, myself…'

'No?' Erestor queried, his tone light, bantering. 'It's true the crown-worn single has fallen out of favour in recent decades, but I think it suits our young friend.'

'Yes – my point, mellon-nin – it makes him look far too young!'

Lindir found an easy smile on his lips.

'Ai, your poor old bones have left you out-of-temper! But forgive me – I should have more respect for your ancient condition…'

Glorfindel growled, but his mood had changed, brightened a little, and by the time the twins arrived bearing a basket of breakfast, the golden-haired Balrog-Slayer had thrown off whatever had been bothering him.

'Have you two not eaten?' Erestor enquired as Elladan unpacked the basket onto the table and Elrohir took a seat and prepared to help himself. 'I thought you were riding with your sister after breakfast?'

'Before breakfast,' Elrohir corrected. 'And we only had time for a morsel before we were asked to bring yours up.'

'And so, of course, the exertion of the walk has left us hungry again.'

'But you are all invited to lunch today.'

'Ah.' Erestor said. 'We have not yet discussed our plans…'

'In the gardens,' Elladan explained. 'Arwen says it's a lovely day for a picnic. She was quite insistent.'

'Reminded us she's queen now, and everything.'

Lindir took a seat at the table and reached for some fruit.

'I think I should like to go, if you and Glorfindel are busy, Erestor,' he said. 'Arwen was very kind yesterday. I would not wish her to think she was unable to help me. The gardens, you say?'

'You know where the music room has those big wide doors that open out onto the terrace and there's a big lawn at the back? There, I think she said.'

Elladan looked to his twin for confirmation. Elrohir shook his head.

'Down on the lawn itself, near to the lake.'

'It is not big enough to be a lake; there is barely room for two or three ducks,' Elladan said, in what was obviously a continuation of a previous argument. 'You cannot call it a lake unless there is room for boating.'

'I'll let you tell that to Aragorn's landscape gardener, shall I?' Elrohir grinned. 'It is too deep to wade, therefore it is a lake…'

Under cover of the twin's lively banter Lindir noticed Erestor watching Glorfindel. The seneschal had loaded his plate and was making determined inroads into his breakfast, attacking it as though it were an enemy, his shoulders hunched. Perhaps it would do Glorfindel good to get out into the open spaces of the palace gardens.

He turned his own attention to the food on his plate. It seemed to him there was too much of everyone each looking at the other to make sure all was well, and not enough talking and enquiring. He thought it would probably be easier to just ask.

But the first person to ask was Arwen, when they arrived at the palace the hour before the noon meal. She was wearing a hat made of straw and trimmed with ribbon and flowers and her eyes went to Lindir's be-hatted head before glancing away.

'Greetings, all. Lindir, how are you? Glorfindel, that hat suits you quite admirably… Erestor, hello! Come, we are all set up and ready in the garden…'

Under cover of her welcome it was unnecessary to do anything more than nod and smile, but once they had taken their seats – around a pleasant table looking out across the garden towards the pond-with-delusions-of-grandeur the Queen of Gondor nudged Lindir gently with her shoulder while the others were distracted by the twins.

'Really, mellon-nin? You look better, but are you?'

'Thank you, yes. The House of the Fellowship is pleasant but the walls are close, I think. I rested well and… and I have not washed my hair today. I only put on the hat when we were leaving and I really do not feel so fearful of your home today…'

'Well, that is progress indeed!'

He cast his eyes downwards.

'I am sorry. That sounds impolite; your home is lovely; it is just…'

'It is just one of our unwelcome guests that puts you off!' She smiled understanding. 'I think Aragorn is in discussions as to whether there is a very secure jail elsewhere in the city that could be put to use. Would that help?'

'My lady, I am not sure whether it would, in truth; I would not know where he might be… but I am determined to overcome this, he was not… he did not…' Lindir sighed and shook his head. 'He was but a reminder of what came after. Himself, it was unpleasant… I know I over-reacted, and I know it was because of what followed. I am trying to rationalise my experience. But it is hard.'

'Well, I think you are being most courageous, Lindir. Tell me, have you worked any more on your beautiful song?'

'The words, the sentiment are there. But shaping them so that the sounds dwell in harmony amongst the music, to ensure each improves the other… I think it will take a little time.'

'Indeed, I am sure a little time will improve many things for you.'

Talk turned to other things over lunch, and Lindir found himself relaxing, smiling at the joking of the twins, enjoying the light bickering between Erestor and Glorfindel about the latter's ancient bones. Arwen smiled and teased her brothers, playful and laughing.

The day grew warm under the sun, and almost without thinking, Lindir removed his hat and set it down.

'Thank the Valar for that!' Glorfindel said, casting aside his own headgear. 'I was thinking I would start to melt beneath the weight of all this velvet!'

Aragorn hailed them from the terrace, heading out to join them. On his head was a wide-brimmed black hat that made him look vaguely rakish. On joining them, he shrugged and took the hat from his head.

'And I had thought we were starting a new fashion in the city! Oh, well… at least I have a hat, should I need one.'

'Sit, eat,' Arwen said. 'You are late. I thought you were not going to join us.'

'Matters of court. Done now.'

Aragorn took his place and began to eat. Arwen looked at him fondly for a moment before turning her attention back to her guests.

'I wondered whether you had discussed how long you will be staying in Minas Tirith?' she asked, trying for a casual tone. 'I had not realised how much I had missed those two scamps!'

'Those two scamps, as you name them,' Aragorn said around a mouthful of pie, 'are considerably older than you, my love!'

'The difference is, that they do not act as if they are!' she said with a sniff. 'The point is, I have missed their ridiculous behaviour. They could stay until after matters are settled with the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds, could they not?'

'That is months away, Arwen,' Aragorn protested. 'Not that our guests are not welcome here… but it is a long time. I doubt your father could manage without his chief advisor for so long. Nor his seneschal. Or Lindir, for that matter.'

Elrohir broke off his argument with Elladan and stared at his brother-in-law.

'But you don't mention us? Adar can spare us, you think?'

'He will probably be glad of the peace and quiet!' Aragorn said, and sighed. 'Arwen, if you want your brothers here, if you and they think Elrond will not object, then of course…'

'Could you bear with us for a little while?' Erestor asked. 'We have not really given much thought to the length of our stay. There is much to consider, after all.'

'What, such as a nice, peaceful ride home without the constant wittering from yon charming companions?' Glorfindel said with just a hint of a growl. 'Although they do help with the horses…'

'We'll discuss it later,' Erestor said hastily. 'Just at the moment, I would like to enjoy my lunch in peace.'

In fact, they all enjoyed the food and the company and the pleasant air of the gardens, so that it was quite late in the afternoon before Glorfindel stretched and got to his feet.

'Our thanks for your hospitality, my lady. It's time we were heading back.'

Erestor also stood.

'We'll bring your breakfast tomorrow,' Elladan said.

'And help you with it, if you like?' Elrohir added. 'Lindir – are you forgetting something?'

Lindir picked up his hat from the table.

'I think I will carry it. At present, I do not need it.'

It was true.

He did not need the hat all the way up through Minas Tirith to the House of the Fellowship, he did not need it when he went inside. Glorfindel suggested they eat at one of the local taverns that night, and Lindir agreed without hesitation, and found he was quite happy to walk through the streets and eat in company with his friends in a room full of strangers bare-headed without a qualm.

'So…' Glorfindel stretched his legs out under the table and took a healthy swig of wine from his glass. 'How long are we staying in the White City, then?'

'I don't want to stay months,' Lindir said doubtfully. 'But I find myself no longer desperate to leave.'

'If the twins want to stay, then we could leave in a few more days,' Erestor said. 'It would be ill-mannered to go too soon. But if our friends are willing to come with us, perhaps we ought to stay longer…'

'Elrond will want to send representatives down for the signing of the treaty anyway. We could end up coming back all this way again… no, I'm not suggesting we stay here until then, Lindir… in fact, I'd be happy to set off home sooner rather than later…'

'Of course, once he knows what could have befallen his sons, Lord Elrond may not wish to send anyone,' Lindir said softly.

'What?' Both Glorfindel and Erestor stared at Lindir, but it was the seneschal who spoke. 'Never mind what could have happened to them, what about what did happen to you?'

He paused to refill and empty his wine glass. 'Don't forget your own worth! It could be, it might be he wants to send an army… in which case, I'm almost tempted to offer to captain it for him.'

Lindir shook his head.

'No, mellon-nin, I am not discounting my own worth… I am simply trying to… to move on, to put this all away.'

'Well, I suppose I understand…' Glorfindel shrugged and tipped the last of the wine into his glass. 'What say we sleep on it, so to speak, and ask the twins what they want at breakfast tomorrow? When Arwen isn't in earshot. It may be they don't want to spend the next half year here anyway.'

Back at the house, Lindir helped Glorfindel up the stairs; the seneschal had been swaying slightly, lurching as if on board ship, all through the streets, and the minstrel's steadying hand was not rejected.

'I thought I might bring my mattress into your room tonight, if you don't mind?' Lindir asked. 'I don't want to crowd you, but…'

'You've been ver' courageous today,' Glorfindel said with an emphatic nod and just the hint of a slur. 'So it'd be a shame to spoil it. Certainly, mellon-nin.'

Twice in the night Lindir was startled out of reverie, but it was by snores rather than screams, and his own rest was peaceful. Perhaps this was the way forward, to put trying to help someone else above his own fears? Perhaps it was but a respite, but if so, it was welcome.

Lindir took it as a good sign when, next morning, he was able to unbind his braid and wash his hair… and stop at just the one washing, and not feel the need to cover his head again. The twins, arriving with food, stared and teased, saying they had quickly got used to him with his hair pulled away from his face.

'Now you look much less like Erestor,' Elrohir said.

'And much more like Lindir,' Elladan added.

Erestor sniffed.

'There was either an insult in there, or a compliment,' he said. 'I am not quite sure which. So. Having taken thought to how long we will stay in the city, we wished to ask you what your preferences might be? I know you are fond of your sister…'

'Our horses can be saddled and fetched as soon as you're packed,' Elladan said.

'We stowed our gear ready before we left the palace today,' Elrohir added. 'Just in case.'

'What happened to staying at the palace until after the treaty?' Glorfindel asked with raised eyebrows.

'Did not you notice?' Lindir asked. 'It was Arwen asked if our friends could stay, not our friends themselves. We know you love your sister dearly,' he went on. 'But I am aware that that is not the point.'

'She's… not exactly odd,' Elladan offered. 'Well, no more than usual. But there is something different about her… she is very… motherly, of a sudden.'

'And while that is all very well, I do not think either of us can bear it for more than a day or so.'

'But we cannot leave so soon,' Erestor protested. 'It would be ill-mannered.'

'Then what if we moved up here?' Elrohir suggested.

'We could take our meals at the palace, still spend lots of time with our sister…' his brother put in.

'Just not quite so much of it…'

Glorfindel began to laugh.

'Come, Erestor, what's the soonest we can politely leave?'

'Please?' Elladan added and, 'Please?' Elrohir begged.

'If it would help, I do not mind if you claim it is because of me,' Lindir offered.

'That wouldn't be right,' Erestor said. 'Two days more. I think that is reasonable? Particularly if you promise to return – perhaps for the treaty?'

'You know,' Elrohir said, 'I think I'd rather spend an extra day or two here now than have to ride all the way back again in four or five months.'

'Tempted to agree with you there,' his twin said.

'How lucky Arwen is to have such affectionate brothers!' Erestor said, shaking his head.

'Oh, we're affectionate, all right. Just… not towards our sister…'


	18. Chapter 18: Northwards

In the finish they stayed another four days in Minas Tirith because a heavy storm blew in from the coast and dropped its load of wind and rain on top of the city, rendering the downward-sloping streets unpleasantly river-like and making the companions reluctant to leave the shelter of the town just yet. The twins continued on at the palace, taking the wet walk up through the streets with breakfast each day and still managing to spend plenty of time with their sister.

Glorfindel grumbled about the delay, and went to bed each night after rather more wine than was good for him, but it seemed to help his reverie be undisturbed.

Lindir, too, rested well, for the most part, the prickle and spatter of rain reminding him of inclement weather at home, comforting rather than unpleasant. In truth, he woke more than once to find his heart racketing and his breathing quickened in his chest, but in general the nightmares passed him by.

The rain blew away towards Osgiliath and the east, and they arranged to leave the following morning after breakfast, collecting their horses on the way down to the palace.

Arwen was very brave parting with her brothers, and they managed to disregard the trembling lip, the shining tears in her eyes, and not tease her about it at all.

'Please give Adar my love, and I have a letter here for him… perhaps I should give it to Erestor though…'

'What, don't you trust us after all this time?' Elladan asked, grinning.

'You surely don't think we'd peek, do you?' Elorhir added innocently.

'No, Elladan, and yes, Elrohir!' she said with a trace of her old fire. 'But I was meaning that Erestor is far more reliable than the pair of you are ever likely to be!'

'I will be glad to take care of it for you, my lady,' Erestor said. 'And our thanks for all your kindness. And, of course, for the lovely hats.'

She gurgled a laugh and shook off her sadness as Aragorn appeared to bid them farewell.

'We have tentatively set the date for the signing of the treaty,' he told them. 'If any or all of you wish to attend, I think it would be an excellent idea to have a party of elvenkind in attendance. If not from Rivendell, then we would send to Lorien…'

'Oh, I am sure my Adar will want to be come,' Arwen said. 'Especially when he reads the letter…'

'Arwen,' Aragorn said warningly, seeing the twins eyeing the folded missive with added curiosity. 'Was that wise…?'

Erestor looked down his long nose at Elrohir and Elladan.

'Do not even think of trying to steal this letter and peruse its contents!' he said sternly. 'I will know, and my retribution will be swift and determined… Aragorn, I do not know how wise it will be for us all to return given the circumstances… I am the only one who was not inside the palace building the night Lindir was retrieved, and without knowing how we would be received…'

'Well, do think about it!' Arwen said. 'We have to reunite Lindir with his Kovalia, after all.'

There were hugs and handshakes and polite nods, and Glorfindel swung up into his saddle and waited for the rest to follow suit and they rode off down the streets and out through the gates and headed finally for home.

'So… what do you think is in that letter, then?' Elladan asked before they had ridden more than a mile up the road.

'Possibly a diatribe on the appalling manners of twin brothers who do not treat their sister, sister's husband, or senior elves of their own household with anything approaching the proper respect,' Erestor suggested.

'Oh, how can you say that?' Elrohir protested. 'We are both most terribly respectful of Lord Glorfindel's senior bones…'

'You watch yourself or you may find the senior bones in my fist connecting with the junior ones in your face in a moment,' Glorfindel growled. 'Either that or I'll tell your Ada how sweet you looked in your hats!'

The weather was cool after the rain, but not cold, and they made good time, glad to have the option of staying at inns for at least a few nights before the necessity of camping arose once more.

'Another three weeks and we should be home,' Glorfindel said as they reined in outside one of the inns they'd used on the way down. 'And not before time – the weather's worsening.'

'At least it's real weather, our weather,' Elladan said. 'Proper rain and sleet. Not like that nasty foreign weather, all sandstorms and blowy, eh?'

'I can't say I fancy the passes if this cold snap takes hold,' Glorfindel went on. 'If we turn a little west we can head through the Gap of Rohan and up past the new Isengard; it will add time to the journey, though, another week or so.'

'I have no objections. It will be easier on the horses, too,' Erestor agreed. 'If no-one objects?'

'I think I'd prefer it,' Lindir said. 'To see more of the land, to take a different way home from our outward journey, it adds to the experience.'

'Well said!' Glorfindel raised his eyebrows in surprise. 'You know, I think we might make a traveller out of you yet, Lindir!'

'I would much prefer to stay a minstrel, I think.'

His opinion didn't change much as they travelled west and then turned north. The weather turned crisp and cold for the time of year, and although as elves the weather didn't cause them any real hardship, still Glorfindel grumbled and the twins ribbed him about his old bones feeling the cold.

Around their camp fire after their evening meal, while the others talked, Lindir worked, writing in a notebook by the flickering light of the flames.

The others thought nothing of it at first, just Lindir working on another song, or a poem, perhaps his poem about Kovalia, but there were none of the usual pauses and eyes-looking-to-a-far-distance that usually typified Lindir, composing. Instead, sometimes he would seem to have no emotion at all on his usually-expressive face, almost as if he was trying not to connect too much with whatever he was working on. And he wrote constantly, doggedly for an hour at a time, only ceasing when either Glorfindel or Erestor remarked on the lateness of the hour.

After the third night spent in such a way, Glorfindel came to his side.

'When are we going to hear this wonderful poem you have spent so many evenings working on, mellon-nin?' he asked.

'I do not think you will,' Lindir said, setting down his pencil. 'It is… it is my account of our journey. I realise Lord Elrond will have many questions about our trip and I thought… if I can write this, I may not have to tell it so often, so deeply. And I thought, if I began the account with the time when we left Imladris, by the time I reached the… unpleasant parts, I would be more used to the process of writing, that it might somehow diffuse…'

Glorfindel reached out and folded the notebook closed.

'It is a brave thought,' he said. 'And I am sure it will help you overcome this. But perhaps it will not help now, and only make things better for later.'

'I am beginning to realise that, my friend.'

'Still, there is this; you will be able to write about Kovalia. It is something to look forward to, maybe.'

This drew a shy smile from Lindir.

'The more I think of her, the more I wish… but the more I fear I will not see her again. The miles are long between Imladris and the Fiefdom of the Desert Winds, longer than I realised on the way there.'

'If you need help… that is, you do not, you are a minstrel, a word-smith… but if you get stuck… oh, Valar, Lindir! You know what I mean!'

'I do indeed. Thank you.'

'And if it's going to be one of those nights… if you need someone to watch your back, I'll be here.'

The miles passed from before them to behind them all the long way home and some three weeks after leaving Minas Tirith, the lands suddenly became familiar, homely, and the twins stood in their stirrups and cheered, and Glorfindel grinned, and even Erestor smiled as they splashed through the Ford of the Bruinen.

And Lindir pretended to be glad.

Glorfindel, however, was not fooled, and held back his horse to ride at the minstrel's side.

'Did you finish your journal?' he asked.

'Yes.'

'Worried about seeing Lord Elrond again? Sorry, stupid question. Will you be all right?'

'I will have to be.'


	19. Chapter 19: Home, Safe

There had been singing in the valley as they rode through; light, thoughtless, laughing songs with lyrics about how impossible it was to go away and not come back changed.

Lindir paled, and Glorfindel growled.

'Peace,' Erestor said. 'You know how it is here, Glorfindel, when our hearts are not troubled, how easy it is to be trivial, just for the sake of seeming clever.'

'They mean no harm,' Lindir said softly. 'Indeed, was I once not just as thoughtless?'

'We'll be at the House soon,' Glorfindel said, and Lindir could not decide whether it was a threat or a promise.

Elrond and the remainder of his household were on the steps to greet them, smiling and glad, Elrond spreading wide his arms as he spoke the words of welcome and stepped forward to first embrace his sons. He would have moved on to bestow a similar greeting on the Glorfindel and the others, but his seneschal stepped away and bowed and Elrond, a little puzzled at this implied rejection of his formal show of friendship, bowed in turn with questioning eyes.

'Mae govannen, mellyn-nin,' he said. 'We have felt your absence greatly amongst us of late.'

'Perhaps you shouldn't have sent so many of us away, then, should you?' Glorfindel muttered, only to have Erestor give him a swift dig in the ribs and a glare for his trouble.

'Well, you will want to refresh yourselves, no doubt,' Elrond went on, trying to recover his poise. 'Wash away your travel stains, feel yourselves truly home. We will meet at dinner.'

He stepped to one side to gesture them in, placing a hand on his sons' shoulders to enter with them last.

'Oh, and Erestor? Are there any letters for me, perhaps?' he asked, almost as an afterthought. 'From Arwen, maybe?'

'Indeed, my lord, I do have something for you.' Erestor felt in the capacious pocket of his outer robes and removed two items; the still-sealed letter from Arwen… and Lindir's journal, it having been given into his hands for delivery at just such a moment. He held up the journal, noting that Lindir's eyes had slid away. 'This is the most urgent, and should be read first.'

'Yes? Thank you.' Elrond's face creased into a small frown of confusion. 'This one? Really?'

'Really,' Glorfindel butted in, adding his voice to Erestor's repeated assurance, not seeing Lindir's flush.

Elrond inclined his head and then turned to Lindir in an attempt to set right the strange mood of what should have been a happy reunion.

'And you, mellon-nin, how was your journey? Did you enjoy your trip?

'I… it is good to be home, my lord…'

'Well, you must tell me all about it later. We have missed you. But are you quite well?'

Glorfindel stepped forward to put himself in front of Lindir as the minstrel shrunk into himself, at a loss for words.

'A lot happened while we were away, not all of it fun and drinking, Elrond,' the seneschal said. 'We're tired and dirty. Can we go and wash, please?'

A little taken aback and obscurely feeling that somehow his casual enquiry had somehow only made things worse, Elrond smiled and raised the letters in his hands.

'A good idea, Glorfindel. I hope a rest and a bath will improve your mood. I'll see you all when you're rested.'

Erestor shot Glorfindel a dark look, shaking his head as Elrond walked away. Glorfindel shrugged, then fell into step beside Lindir.

'I'm going to talk to the guard before I clean up,' he said. 'So, do you want to use my bathing room? It's nearer than the public baths, and the water tends to be a bit fresher, too…'

Lindir turned to slowly look at him, and Glorfindel all but winced to see just how much of his haunted expression had returned.

'Might I? But then, the public baths should not be too busy…'

'Bound to be someone there this time of day,' Glorfindel said. 'Come on, you won't feel much like making polite conversation, not after the journey we've had. It's no trouble, you know.'

'Then, thank you. I will.'

Glorfindel led the way to his rooms – 'Far too big and fine for a warrior like me, but I do like having my own bathing room…' - and showed Lindir where everything was, keeping his eyes and his mind on the business of towels and taps and soap before leaving him with a parting word.

'I'll be back in an hour or so. Feel free to wait for me, if you want. '

He swaggered out of his rooms, heading towards the guard room to catch up on events, shutting the door after himself.

Lindir tried not to look too hard at Glorfindel's room; it felt like prying. For all the seneschal's sense of drama, for all the bells on his harness and his bright blue cloak, beyond the showmanship, Glorfindel didn't really have a lot to show for his long and strange life. That he was an honoured, valued member of the Rivendell community was evident by the chambers' size and in that it had one of the best views over the valley, as well as its private bathing room; there were very few chambers in Imladris with outlets from the hot springs.

But Glorfindel lived simply.

Rumour had it he also lived untidily, but at present, having been away, the room was neat and clean and free of dust.

Lindir picked up the towel Glorfindel had found for him; it was huge, the pile on it deep and soft, yet in the same drawer he had caught sight of much older, more threadbare towels. This one looked to have not even been used.

He made his way to the bathing room. The pool was small in comparison to the public baths, but it was deep enough to rise to the waist, the water constantly circulating, hot and smelling faintly of sulphur. Setting aside his garments he descended into the concealing water, unable to prevent a glance over his shoulder, not knowing what shamed him more; that he felt so uncomfortable in his own skin, or that he feared he might not be alone.

He felt the caress of the slight current on his skin with a mixture of dread and pleasure… he had to get past this. Had to. He was an elf, blessed with a graceful form, not spoiled or marred or – as Glorfindel was – marked out as different. He had never before felt shy of revealing his form, not before… and all the long journey down it had been necessary to be sometimes unclothed in front of each other, washing in streams, the call of bodily functions; nudity was not a problem, never had been, nor should be.

But he wasn't nude, not now. He felt naked, and that was entirely different.

He tried to process his unease, to rationalise and pursue it with logic. But it always ended in images of Briot, tugging at the collar around his throat… technically he supposed he hadn't, quite, been naked during the attack the… the rape.

Using the word was still hard but, somehow, although at first it had made all seem worse, it had begun to make sense, to shape his response. An attack, however violent, was a simple thing by comparison. It was not, usually, a violation, an invasion.

Legend had it that if an elf was raped, such a one would go straight to Mandos. But perhaps that was only if it was an elleth who was so violated. Or only if the act were committed by another elf. Certainly this piece of lore hadn't been part of Glorfindel's lecture, but then, they were expecting trouble from orcs and wild men and ruffians, not their own kind.

He had survived, though. He hadn't gone to Mandos, he was still here, he had friends, he was still able to love. Still able to sing.

The water was nice.

Lindir stroked his skin with soap, began to enjoy his bath. He lingered for a while, washing and rinsing, and then decided he would wash his hair, not because he had too, but because it was simply in need of washing.

He was still in the pool when a sharp rap came from the outer door, followed by the sound of it opening, and Glorfindel's voice.

'Lindir? You're still here, sorry. Take your time, I'm back early.'

'I'm just finished…' Had he been an hour in the water, then? He didn't think so. 'A moment…'

Quickly he dipped his head under the water once more to give his hair a final rinse and climbed out, bundling himself in the huge towel. It covered him from neck to ankles, and would have wrapped twice around him.

He reminded himself that he felt better, that Glorfindel was his friend, that there was no need to be ashamed of his body or what had been done to it, and that Glorfindel would understand and probably knew exactly what that felt like.

Taking a breath to steady himself, he went through to the outer rooms and saw Glorfindel had stripped to the waist, exhibiting his own scarred torso.

'Thought it might help,' the seneschal said with a shrug. 'Maybe not.'

'I know what you're trying to do, and I am grateful. I did not know I had taken so long…'

'Well, there was more than a little bit of mud to wash away, wasn't there, mellon-nin? No, it's me back early. Nothing much to report, apparently.' He gestured to a pile of clean and folded clothing on the bed. 'I thought you'd want properly fresh clothes, so I asked one of the maids to steal some from your room.'

'That's very thoughtful. I am grateful, thank you. For everything, I mean.'

Glorfindel grinned.

'Even brought your hat from your saddlebags…'

Lindir smiled his slow smile.

'I am not sure it will be appropriate for the high table…'

Glorfindel winked and reached behind him to produce his own bright blue headgear and wave it like a trophy.

'Go on… I want to see Elrond's face when he sees me in this… and finds out it was a gift from his darling daughter. I reckon I can probably bribe the twins to wear theirs, too… I shoved a note under Erestor's door, you know, I think he quite likes his hat.'

He put down the hat and got to his feet, rummaging for his threadbare towel and sauntered towards his bathing room.

'I'll have a bit of a wallow, I think. Get yourself dressed, stay if you like, I don't mind. We can walk down together, then. Or I can come to your rooms, I don't mind.'

Erestor had barely time to unpack his saddlebags and glance at the note which had been pushed beneath his door when there was a knock and a polite, but insistent request that he present himself at Lord Elrond's study at once.

Pursing his lips in silent protest at the tone of the summons, he inclined his head and obeyed.

'What is all this nonsense, Erestor?' Elrond demanded as soon as his newly-returned advisor had closed the study door behind him. 'Read this first? Lindir's travel diary? When there is such news from my daughter, you want me to be reading a… a diary?'

Erestor took a breath, marshalling his thoughts, reminding himself that Elrond was his employer and, although occasionally prone to bouts of idiocy, they were rare enough occasions these days for him to make allowances. Perhaps.

'While it is true that I do not know the contents of Arwen's letter, my lord,' he began, 'I do, regrettably, know rather more than I wish to of Lindir's tale…'

'Yes… his prose style is hardly on a par with his poetry, is it? Arwen writes…'

'My lord?'

The icy disapproval in Erestor's tone halted Elrond in mid-sentence. He looked up, and the smile faded from his face as he read barely-contained fury in his advisor's eyes.

'I assume you did not read all of Lindir's account, my lord? You would hardly be smiling, if so, one would hope…'

'I… I may have skimmed… a little…'

'Hmm…' Erestor drew himself up to look down his long nose at his employer. The fact that Elrond was seated while he was standing only added greater stature to his outraged dignity. 'Did you, perchance… ah… 'skim' the passage where Lindir was taken captive and molested, while he lay bound and helpless in a wagon?'

'I…'

'Or what about the passage where he was fastened into a chain and a collar and left a prisoner, shackled to a bed?'

'Erestor, I… what…?'

'Or the pages where he was raped?' Erestor hissed. 'And where he writes that he was grateful, that he lost consciousness and so did not have to endure all of it, did you skim that, too?'

Elrond could no longer even meet Erestor's eyes.

'Oh, sweet Eru!' he whispered, suddenly grey-faced. 'Forgive…! I thought it was going to be all… another night at an inn, spoke to the landlord, do not like the food… not… You must understand, my daughter… so this is why you wanted me to read this first? But… Oh, what did I say when greeted you, did I not ask if he enjoyed the trip? What will he think of me? Erestor, was he much hurt, as a result?'

'I suggest, my lord, you re-read all Lindir has been able to record, perhaps with more attention this time. And do not say anything – anything – about our dress style when we arrive for dinner.'

'Erestor? Is he all right?'

Erestor saw the remorse, the pain in Elrond's eyes and took pity on his contrition.

'No, not yet. It has been more than a week, however, since he woke us with his screams in the night. Progress, perhaps. Might I go now, my lord?'

'Yes, Erestor. Thank you. I'm sorry.'

Once alone, Elrond turned back to the letter from his daughter.

_Good news, Adar! You are to be a grand-ada! Yes, it is true, indeed, but I would not say to any but my husband before you, not even to my dear brothers… Poor Lindir has suffered greatly, please be kind to him. He does not, I fear, enjoy travelling as much as he had expected to…'_

Now, on this second reading, he began to realise the meaning behind Arwen's hints. And, fortified by the positive nature of Arwen's news, Elrond turned to Lindir's journal once more.

This time he read slowly, carefully, between the lines, even though he wished he did not have to, even though his throat closed and the saliva ran thick in his mouth as if he would vomit where he sat. The sad, quiet message of Lindir's courage and his grateful acknowledgement of the anxious efforts of his friends to help cut Elrond to the quick, every line a further accusation of his guilt, even as Lindir exonerated him. For Lindir had not volunteered to go; Elrond had said it would be a good idea, and so Lindir had accepted the word of his lord.

And now this.

There was just one slight note of optimism; a woman, Kovalia, had somehow reached through to Lindir in his suffering, given him something positive to fixate on. No doubt Lindir, romantic poet that he was, truly believed, as he wrote, that he loved her… well, if he could hold on to that, it would bring him a measure of comfort while he healed…

Elrond had always known, of course, how brief mortals were. But it was only of late that he had begun to realise precisely what that meant, what that could mean for himself, for his daughter. He made a mental not that, while Lindir should not be discouraged from expressing his… feelings for this Kovalia, there would come a time when her mortality would need to be gently pointed out to him…

What, was there still more? Osgiliath, Minas Tirith – Lindir had tried to write a full account. Impatient at first, before he had penetrated the heart of the journal, now Elrond understood, and honoured him for it. And to read about his daughter's happiness in seeing her brothers was a welcome antidote…

The mood of the journal darkened again as he read of Lindir's encounter with the human who had mauled him… of course such an encounter would reawaken all the distress, possibly even make it worse…

Pity and sympathy welled up in him. For all his knowledge and intelligence, Lindir was an innocent at heart and to read his attempts at rationalising these events, at trying to recover from them, was humbling and uncomfortable… it sounded as if Glorfindel had been a stalwart friend.

Finally, it was done, the account finished, and Elrond gave thought to how best to help his poor, damaged minstrel. Not a summons to the study, that would never do. A quiet word, perhaps, after dinner. He would find a way to broach the subject without making matters worse; he was Elrond, renowned loremaster and healer, and if he could not find a way to help, no-one could.

Thus decided, Elrond turned once more to Arwen's happy news.

But it had lost a little of its shine.


	20. Chapter 20: Hall of Fire

20: Hall of Fire

Lindir waited until he heard the splashing sounds that told him Glorfindel was fully occupied with his bath before dressing, grateful for the clean clothing. Soft, brown leggings and tunic over a cream shirt, all fresh from his wardrobe, all things that took him back to a time before he was… changed.

He ran the towel over his damp hair and finger combed it before putting in a swift, single plait to keep it out of the way.

From the bathing room, Glorfindel lifted his voice in a snatch of song that made Lindir shudder and be grateful he didn't know more of the barrack tunes that the seneschal favoured. Picking up his hat, he made his way through to the outer chamber which served as a sitting room and office for the seneschal, and he took a seat where he could look out of the window at the second-best view over the valley.

Dusk was falling over Rivendell, deepening the shadows of the trees, falling into purple shadow on the side of the hills, turning the far cascades into silver.

'Are you glad to be home?' Glorfindel asked from the doorway.

'I do not know yet. I am pleased not to be out in the wilds. But I have not been amongst so many people since Gondor.'

'I know. I feel like that too, sometimes, first few days in from a trip.'

'They will want us in the Hall of Fire, after. They will want music from me. If I tell them I have not practiced, do you think they will hold me excused?'

'I doubt it. There are so few good musical types left here, even an out-of-practice Lindir's going to be better than, for instance… a practiced me, for instance.'

Lindir smiled slowly.

'We'll stay close, Erestor and I,' Glorfindel said. 'Maybe the lads as well, if Elrond will leave them alone.'

He jammed his bright blue hat on his head without benefit of a mirror, and grinned at the minstrel.

'You going to wear your hat, or what?'

The dining hall was too full, even though Rivendell had fewer inhabitants these days.

Lindir hesitated on the threshold.

At his side, Elrohir gave him a nudge.

'Is my hat on straight?'

'The hat's fine,' Elladan said. 'It's your head that's tilted wrongly.'

'If we are ready…?' Erestor said sharply.

'Who put you in charge?' Glorfindel asked. 'Let's just get on with it, shall we?'

'And since when were you my commander?'

Elladan and Elrohir laughed at the pair of them and pushed forwards.

'Come on! We're famished. You two stay here and bicker if you want to, but let us through!'

The twins' urgency succeeded, and the returned travellers entered the dining room in a little cluster. Somehow, Lindir was always in the middle of the group, forever surrounded, even when they took places at the table. As Elrond had fully expected to have his sons one on either side, this necessitated some rearranging of settings as they both took seats to his right, with Lindir next and Erestor and Glorfindel beyond. It made for a very inelegantly balanced table but, Elrond reflected, his sons and his friends were only protecting the minstrel and he found it rather touching to see their loyalty, even if it was a little worrying that they felt it necessary to so guard Lindir at his own table, in his own home.

But the meal passed pleasantly, and if Lindir was quieter than Elrond remembered, still, he did join in the conversation, even when Melpomaen, one of Elrond's assistant healers, commented on their hats.

'Indeed, we are hoping to start a trend in Imladris,' the minstrel said. 'Gifts from Lady Arwen. Although none of us suit the look quite so well as Glorfindel does.'

The seneschal grinned, and tilted his hat to an even more rakish angle.

'We would have brought one back for you, Adar,' Elrohir said. 'But we left before Arwen finished crocheting it…'

Elrond paled. There had been a time when Arwen had delighted in making crocheted gifts for everyone, and these items were still remembered with dread by some of the recipients of the more unusual of her gifts.

'I wouldn't worry, Elrond,' Glorfindel said, unable to resist the opportunity to tease just a little. 'I'm sure she will arrange to have it messengered to you…'

After dinner had ended, Elrond led the way to the Hall of Fire. Lindir, rising from his seat to follow, felt Erestor at his elbow as he joined the exodus from the table.

'Mellon-nin, you will have been missed. I am sure many will want speech with you; we will not be able to shield you all night…'

'No, it is all right, Erestor. I will be all right.'

'You could always go straight to the harp, if you don't want to be talked to.'

But Melpomaen was already approaching with a shy smile on his face, and any chance Lindir may have had of retreating under the cover of music was gone.

'Would you care to sit with us?' the ellon asked, indicating a group of six or seven of his associates, already laughing merrily as only the elves of Rivendell could, the lightness somehow not quite sounding foolish against the backdrop of the elegant hall. 'We would welcome your company, Lindir.'

'Another time, perhaps.' Erestor took it on himself to answer, seeing Glorfindel scowling them over to where he had established himself in a quiet corner. 'It is odd to be amongst company after so long in the wilds.'

'It must be so… forgive me… I had not thought. I have not travelled…'

Lindir managed a smile. There was something about Melpomaen that reminded him of himself, when he was younger and shyer.

'Would you like to sit with us instead for a while?' he suggested. 'Your friends would not mind, I hope?'

'Thank you. I would like to… if Lord Glorfindel would not object?'

'I will go ahead and tell him not to,' Erestor offered. 'You will be most welcome, Melpomaen.'

He headed off, leaving Lindir and Melpomaen to follow more slowly.

'There has been talk, while you were gone,' the ellon began. 'They say our lord will sail soon. A few years, a decade at most. So, many of us are now giving thought to whether or not to sail with him or to stay… it may sound foolish, but to me, it seems a very long way to the havens, and I do not know if I would not rather stay here, where it is safe…'

'Melpomaen… there is no place that is safer than another. It is the people who are with you, who make you feel protected, they make you safe.'

Talk stopped as they reached Glorfindel's corner. The seneschal tried to look welcoming as Lindir sat next to him, Melpomaen taking a stool on the far side of the table. Presently, as if it was accidental, Erestor moved to Lindir's other side.

'Lindir…' Melpomaen began again. 'I know you are not greatly travelled… I wondered if I might ask for your thoughts? Not as to what I should do – only I can discover that – but what is it like, being so far from home…?'

'I have only made three journeys of any length,' Lindir said. 'The first brought me here, and was hard. The second was… exciting, I suppose. It was when Arwen was considering one of the sons of King Thranduil for husband… do you remember, Glorfindel, Erestor…?'

Glorfindel shook his head with a groan, and Erestor nodded, his mouth suddenly prim.

'Of course, nothing came of it,' Lindir went on. 'There were dragons… and… and for the first time, I saw death walk amongst us. Elves, dead, of fire and poison… I… I sang for them, a special ritual the Silvans had, very beautiful, very sad… I did not much have the heart to travel, after that.'

'Might I ask, then, why now?'

Lindir shrugged, the gesture sitting oddly on his shoulders. He had known someone would ask him something like this, and he had practiced a reply.

'It was an opportunity to travel to far lands and learn something of humankind.'

'And the beds were hard, the beer was warm and the sun was hot,' Glorfindel interrupted brusquely. 'Lindir would have done better to stay home.'

Melpomaen dropped his gaze, abashed and confused at Glorfindel's anger.

'Well, it was not quite all bad,' Lindir said gently. 'I made a friend, and Arwen gave me a lovely hat.' He smiled slowly. 'And, I wrote a new piece of music. One day, it will be a song. I'll play it for you, if you would like.'

'Would you so?' Melpomaen brightened. 'They said you would not tonight – that you would be too tired…'

'I feel I will never be too tired to play this tune. Come and listen, tell me if you like it.'

The harp had stood silent all evening; musicians played flute and oboe softly over the conversations in the hall but none had gone to the harp. Seeing Lindir approach, they finished their tunes and made way for him with smiles on their faces. One ventured to say: 'We have missed your playing, Lindir.'

'I may be a little out of practice.'

Lindir seated himself at the harp and it was like a reunion of old friends. His fingers silked the strings and they murmured in perfect greeting to him.

For a moment he paused, filled himself up with the memory of Kovalia, and began to play.

The melody rang out, glittering, the harmonies built. Lindir found the tune, layered in the counterpoint, added a descant, wrapped it in chords, unaware that all other sounds in the hall had ceased, just his music and the crackle of the fire, and he lost himself so much in the song that he began to feel the right words shaping at last, and to fix them in his memory he sang them aloud, oblivious to the consternation on the faces around him as he finished with his double refrain:

'_And that is why I think I am in love with Kovala, yes… I think I am in love with Kovalia…'_

…and stroked the strings silent.

There was hush for a moment and then murmurs of approval and praise began to rise around him. Melpomaen wiped his eyes and Elrond flicked a finger across his own cheek.

'I think the fire must be smoking into the hall tonight,' he said. 'Lindir, that was astonishing. Such a beautiful thing, mellon-nin… quite, quite special.'

Lindir smiled, happy at heart, as he inclined his head in gratitude.

'Thank you, my lord. I have merely tried to represent my friend Kovalia. It is she who is special.'

'I begin to see, I think.' Elrond gestured back to the harp. 'Will you continue? The harp strings have missed your touch, I think.'

'I have nothing else new…'

'But anything you play will be welcome.'

Lindir inclined his head and turned his attention to the harp, filling the hall with music, losing himself in the melody. He played the melodies he'd heard in Lórien before moving on to his personal favourites and couldn't help going through the melody of Kovalia's song once more before stilling the music.

He sat up and looked round, not expecting praise, but usually somebody would say something when one stopped, put in a request, perhaps, a word of thanks.

But the hall had emptied.

Almost.

In the dim corner, Glorfindel was still sitting, trying to retreat into the shadows, watchful, and Elrond was approaching with a kind smile on his face.

'Lindir, I would very much like to talk to you, if you do not mind. About your journal.'


End file.
